Maiden Voyages

by Mary Morris

  Ever since we left the clearing from which the start was made, we had turned our backs on the river, but about three o’clock in the afternoon we came suddenly on it again, and stood on the most beautiful spot I ever saw in my life. We were on the top of a high precipice, densely wooded to the water’s edge. Some explorers in bygone days must have camped here, for half-a-dozen trees were felled, and the thick brush-wood had been burnt for a few yards, just enough to let us take in the magnificent view before and around us. Below roared and foamed, among great boulders washed down from the cliff, the Waimakiriri; in the middle of it lay a long narrow strip of white shingle, covered with water in the winter floods, but now shining like snow in the bright sunlight. Beyond this the river flowed as placidly as a lake, in cool green depths, reflecting every leaf of the forest on the high bank or cliff opposite. To our right it stretched away, with round headlands covered with timber running down in soft curves to the water. But on our left was the most perfect composition for a picture: in the foreground a great reach of smooth water, except just under the bank we stood on, where the current was strong and rapid; a little sparkling beach, and a vast forest rising up from its narrow border, extending over chain after chain of hills, till they rose to the glacial region, and then the splendid peaks of the snowy range broke the deep blue sky line with their grand outlines.

  All this beauty would have been almost too oppressive, it was on such a large scale and the solitude was so intense, if it had not been for the pretty little touch of life and movement afforded by the hut belonging to the station we were bound for. It was only a rough building, made of slabs of wood with cob between; but there was a bit of fence and the corner of a garden and an English grass paddock, which looked about as big as a pocket-handkerchief from where we stood. A horse or two and a couple of cows were tethered near, and we could hear the bark of a dog. A more complete hermitage could not have been desired by Diogenes himself, and for the first time we felt ashamed of invading the recluse in such a formidable body, but ungrudging, open-handed hospitality is so universal in New Zealand that we took courage and began our descent. It really was like walking down the side of a house. And no one could stir a step without at least one arm round a tree. I had no gun to carry, so I clung frantically with both arms to each stem in succession. The steepness of the cliff was the reason we could take in all the beauty of the scene before us, for the forest was as thick as ever; but we could see over the tops of the trees, as the ground dropped sheer down, almost in a straight line from the plateau we had been travelling on all day. As soon as we reached the shingle, on which we had to walk for a few hundred yards, we bethought ourselves of our toilettes; the needle and thread I had brought did good service in making us more presentable. We discovered, however, that our faces were a perfect network of fine scratches, some of which would go on bleeding, in spite of cold-water applications. Our boots were nearly dry; and my petticoat, short as it was, proved to be the only damp garment: this was the fault of my first jump into the water. We put the least scratched and most respectable-looking member of the party in the van, and followed him, amid much barking of dogs, to the low porch; and after hearing a cheery “Come in,” answering our modest tap at the door, we trooped in one after the other till the little room was quite full. I never saw such astonishment on any human face as on that of the poor master of the house, who could not stir from his chair by the fire, on account of a bad wound in his leg from an axe. There he sat quite helpless, a moment ago so solitary, and now finding himself the centre of a large, odd-looking crowd of strangers. He was a middle-aged Scotchman, probably of not a very elevated position in life, and had passed many years in this lonely spot, and yet he showed himself quite equal to the occasion.

  After that first uncontrollable look of amazement he did the honours of his poor hut with the utmost courtesy and true good-breeding. His only apology was for being unable to rise from his arm-chair (made out of half a barrel and an old flour-sack by the way); he made us perfectly welcome, took it for granted we were hungry—hunger is a very mild word to express my appetite, for one—called by a loud coo-ée to his man Sandy, to whom he gave orders that the best in the house should be put before us, and then began to inquire by what road we had come, what sport we had, &c, all in the nicest way possible. I never felt more awkward in my life than when I stooped to enter that low doorway, and yet in a minute I was quite at my ease again; but of the whole party I was naturally the one who puzzled him the most. In the first place, I strongly suspect that he had doubts as to my being anything but a boy in a rather long kilt; and when this point was explained, he could not understand what a “female,” as he also called me, was doing on a rough hunting expedition. He particularly inquired more than once if I had come of my own free will, and could not understand what pleasure I found in walking so far. Indeed he took it so completely for granted that I must be exhausted, that he immediately began to make plans for F—— and me to stop there all night, offering to give up his “bunk” (some slabs of wood made into a shelf, with a tussock mattress and a blanket), and to sleep himself in his arm-chair.

  In the meantime, Sandy was preparing our meal. There was an open hearth with a fine fire, and a big black kettle hanging over it by a hook fastened somewhere up the chimney. As soon as this boiled he went to a chest, or rather locker, and brought a double-handful of tea, which he threw into the kettle; then he took from a cupboard the biggest loaf of bread I ever saw—a huge thing, which had been baked in a camp-oven—and flapped it down on the table with a bang; next he produced a tin milk-pan, and returned to the cupboard to fetch out by the shank-bone a mutton-ham, which he placed in the milk-dish: a bottle of capital whisky was forthcoming from the same place; a little salt on one newspaper, and brown, or rather black, sugar on another, completed the arrangements, and we were politely told by Sandy to “wire in”—digger’s phraseology for an invitation to commence—which we did immediately, as soon as we could make an arrangement about the four tin plates and three pannikins. I had one all to myself, but the others managed by twos and threes to each plate. I never had a better luncheon in my life; everything was excellent in its way, and we all possessed what we are told is the best sauce. Large as the supplies were, we left hardly anything, and the more we devoured the more pleased our host seemed. There were no chairs; we sat on logs of trees rudely chopped into something like horse-blocks, but to tired limbs which had known no rest from six hours’ walking they seemed delightful. After we had finished our meal, the gentlemen went outside to have half a pipe before setting off again; they dared not smoke whilst we were after the cattle, for fear of their perceiving some unusual smell; and I remained for ten minutes with Mr. ——. I found that he was very fond of reading; his few books were all of a good stamp, but he was terribly hard-up for anything which he had not read a hundred times over. I hastily ran over the names of some books of my own, which I offered to lend him for as long a time as he liked: and we made elaborate plans for sending them, of my share in which I took a memorandum. He seemed very grateful at the prospect of having anything new, especially now that he was likely to be laid up for some weeks, and I intend to make every effort to give him this great pleasure as soon as possible.

  We exchanged the most hearty farewells when the time of parting came, and our host was most earnest in his entreaties to us to remain; but it was a question of getting out of the bush before dusk, so we could not delay. He sent Sandy to guide us by a rather longer but easier way than climbing up the steep cliff to the place where the little clearing at its edge which I have mentioned had been made; and we dismissed our guide quite happy with contributions from all the tobacco-pouches, for no one had any money with him. We found our way back again by the notches on the trees as long as the light lasted, and when it got too dark to see them easily, the smouldering trunks guided us, and we reached the clearing from which we started in perfect safety. Good Mrs. D—— had a bountiful tea ready; she was much concerned at our having yet some th
ree miles of bad walking before we could reach the hut on the outskirts of the bush, where we had left the trap and the ponies. When we got to this point there was actually another and still more sumptuous meal set out for us, to which, alas! we were unable to do any justice; and then we found our way to the station across the flat, down a steep cutting, and through the river-bed, all in the dark and cold. We had supper as soon as we reached home, tumbling into bed as early as might be afterwards for such a sleep as you Londoners don’t know anything about.

  I have only described one expedition to you, and that the most unsuccessful, as far as killing anything goes; but my hunting instincts only lead me to the point of reaching the game; when it comes to that, I always try to save its life, and if this can’t be done, I retire to a distance and stop my ears; indeed, if very much over-excited, I can’t help crying. Consequently, I enjoy myself much more when we don’t kill anything; and, on the other occasions, I never could stop and see even the shot fired which was to bring a fine cow or a dear little calf down, but crept away as far as ever I could, and muffled my head in my jacket. The bushmen liked this part of the performance the best, I believe, and acted as butchers very readily, taking home a large joint each to their huts, a welcome change after the eternal pigeons, ka-kas, and wild ducks on which they live.

  ETHEL BRILLIANA TWEEDIE

  (ca. 1860–1940)

  Few women writers in Edwardian England traveled in the way Ethel Tweedie did. After her father, husband, and both sons were killed, she threw herself into far-flung tours of the world. Among the titles of her ten travel books are Through Finland in Carts and Mexico as I Saw It. She wrote about everything from etiquette to anticommunism. Later in life she published the book My Table-Cloths: A Few Reminiscences. But Tweedie’s ingenuous, righteous manner forestalled parody; she personified the axiom that there are no dull subjects, only dull writers, In her first travel book, A Girl’s Ride in Iceland, Tweedie challenged the habit of women riding sidesaddle and became an influential advocate for making riding astride socially acceptable for women.

  from A GIRL’S RIDE IN ICELAND

  When this little volume (my maiden effort) was published five years ago, it unwittingly originated an angry controversy by raising the question “Should women ride astride?”

  It is astonishing what a great fire a mere spark may kindle, and accordingly the war, on what proved to be a very vexed subject, waged fast and furious. The picture papers inserted cleverly-illustrated articles pro and con; the peace of families was temporarily wrecked—for people were of course divided in their opinions—and bitter things were said by both sides concerning a very simple and harmless matter. For a time it seemed as though the “Ayes” would win; but eventually appearances carried the day, and women still use side-saddles when on horseback, though the knickerbockers and short skirts (only far shorter) I advocated for rough country riding are now constantly worn by the many female equestrians who within the last couple of years have mounted bicycles.

  It is nearly four years since, from an hotel window in Copenhagen, I saw, to my great surprise, for the first time a woman astride a bicycle! How strange it seemed! Paris quickly followed suit, and now there is a perfect army of women bicyclists in that fair capital; after a decent show of hesitation England dropped her prejudices, and at the present minute, almost without a murmur, allows her daughters, clad in unnecessarily masculine costume, to scour the country in quest of fresh air astride a bicycle.

  If women may ride an iron steed thus attired, surely they might be permitted to bestride a horse in like manner clothed in like fashion.

  My own experience as to comfort will be found in the following pages, and I can only add that greater knowledge has strengthened that opinion. When discussing the subject with Sir John Williams—one of the greatest authorities on the diseases of women—he said, “I do not see that any harm could arise from women riding like men. Far from it. I cannot, indeed, conceive why the side-saddle was ever invented at all.” What more could be urged in favour of cross riding?

  Saudárkrók was to witness a new experiment in our mounting arrangements. On arrival, intending riding into the interior as usual, we applied at the only inn in the place for ponies, when to our discomfiture we learnt no such thing as a lady’s side-saddle was to be obtained. The innkeeper and our party held a long consultation as to what was to be done, during which the inhabitants of the place gathered round us in full force, apparently much interested in our proceedings.

  At last one of the lookers-on disappeared, and presently returned in triumph with a chair-saddle, which he had unearthed from some remote corner where it had probably lain, judging by its appearance, since the Middle Ages. This was assigned to Miss T. No second one, however, was obtainable, and I had to choose between remaining behind or overcoming the difficulty of riding lady-fashion on a man’s saddle. My determination was quickly taken, and much to the amusement of our party, up I mounted, the whole village stolidly watching the proceeding, whilst the absence of a pommel contributed considerably to the difficulty I had in keeping my seat.

  Off we started, headed by our guide, and as long as the pony walked I felt very comfortable without a pommel, so much so that I ventured to try a trot, when round went the saddle and off I slipped. Vaughan came to my rescue, and after readjusting the saddle, and tightening the girths, I remounted, but only with the same result. How was I to get along at this rate?

  I had often read that it was the custom for women in South America, Albania, &c, who have to accomplish long distances on horseback, to ride man fashion. Indeed, women rode so in England, until side-saddles were introduced by Anne of Bohemia, wife of Richard II, and many continued to ride across the saddle until even a later date. In Iceland I had seen women ride as men, and felt more convinced than ever that this mode was safer and less fatiguing. Although I had ridden all my life, the roughness of the Icelandic roads and ponies made ladywise on a man’s saddle impossible, and the sharpness of the pony’s back, riding with no saddle, equally so. There was no alternative: I must either turn back, or mount as a man. Necessity gives courage in emergencies. I determined therefore to throw aside conventionality, and do in “Iceland as the Icelanders do.” Keeping my brother at my side, and bidding the rest to ride forward, I made him shorten the stirrups, and hold the saddle, and after sundry attempts, succeeded in landing myself man fashion on the animal’s back. The position felt very odd at first, and I was also somewhat uncomfortable at my attitude, but on Vaughan’s assuring me there was no cause for my uneasiness, and arranging my dress so that it fell in folds on either side, I decided to give the experiment a fair trial, and in a very short time got quite accustomed to the position, and trotted along merrily. Cantering was at first a little more difficult, but I persevered, and in a couple of hours was quite at home in my new position, and could trot, pace, or canter alike, without any fear of an upset. The amusement of our party when I overtook them, and boldly trotted past, was intense; but I felt so comfortable in my altered seat that their derisive and chaffing remarks failed to disturb me. Perhaps my boldness may rather surprise my readers; but after full experience, under most unfavourable circumstances, I venture to put on paper the result of my experiment.

  Riding man-fashion is less tiring than on a side-saddle, and I soon found it far more agreeable, especially when traversing rough ground. My success soon inspired Miss T. to summon up courage and follow my lead. She had been nearly shaken to pieces in her chair pannier, besides having only obtained a one-sided view of the country through which she rode; and we both returned from a twenty-five mile ride without feeling tired, whilst from that day till we left the island we adopted no other mode of travelling, I am quite sure had we allowed conventional scruples to interfere, we should never have accomplished in three days and a half the 160 miles’ ride to the Geysers, which was our ultimate achievement.

  I may here mention our riding costume. We had procured very simply made thick blue serge dresses before leaving home,
anticipating rough travelling. The skirts being full and loose, hung well down on each side when riding, like a habit on the off and near sides, and we flattered ourselves that, on the whole, we looked both picturesque and practical. Our very long waterproof boots (reaching above the knee) proved a great comfort when fording rivers, which in an Iceland ride must be crossed every few miles, sometimes oftener. For the rest we wore ordinary riding attire.