1867 - Thomson, J. T. Rambles with a Philosopher - CHAPTER I.

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Rambles with a Philosopher;

OR,

VIEWS AT THE ANTIPODES.

CHAPTER I.

IT is some years ago--colonially speaking, a long time ago --that I happened to be journeying from the northern districts to Dunedin. The season of my journey was during the dead of winter--that is, about the latter end of July. I had reached my last day's stage, and was now hastening along the sharp, razor-back ridges that extend between Waikouaiti River and the Snowy Mountain. No roads had yet been formed in the Province, so we were forced to use the devious and difficult tracks that nature had prepared for us. I had mounted that portion of the road called Steep Hill, and was in the act of descending when I espied a rider ahead, pushing on in the same direction as myself. My first thought was as to the possibility of overtaking him, for I saw that company would be useful, if not agreeable, as the clouds were lowering and

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the wind sighed sullenly. A companion in travel would, under such circumstances, cheer the way over the dreary Snowy Mountain; and his assistance might be advantageous were tempestuous weather to overtake us.

I was not slow in urging my horse full tilt down the steep declivity; then, having gained the hollow, I followed full gallop along the alternate rising and falling ridges. As I rose on the brows I perceived the stranger ahead of me; as I descended he was again lost to view. I, continued thus for several miles, but with no appearance of being able to overtake him, and had gained that portion of the road where stands a small copse-wood, called Lee's Bush. On my rounding the shoulder of the hill at that place, the stranger was seen ascending the steep acclivity that leads up to the Clump of Trees. He was apparently pressing forward with all the swiftness of a good steed; nor did I relax in my endeavors to put my own on its mettle. I now perceived sufficient reasons for hastening, for the south-west quarter showed unmistakeable signs of an approaching gale.

I was not long in reaching the Clump of Trees, at which place, at that time, stood a lonely untenanted hut, whose meagre shelter and cold charity were sometimes availed of by the storm-staid traveller. I would rather have taken shelter here than have proceeded to face the pelting showers now descending, had I not been fortified in my resolution to advance by perceiving the stranger in the act of ascending the Snowy Mountain, fully a thousand feet above me.

Incited by example, I gave my horse the reins, and pushed forward. My homeward-bound steed gallantly seconded my wishes, and I was soon brought to the base of the ascent, and borne upwards. Here, being yet under the lee of the range, the storm was but little felt, further than in the clogging of the horse's hoofs by the newly-fallen

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snow. Still, the track was clear, and we ascended without doubt or difficulty. When we made the summit, however, the scene changed. The storm had now attained its fullest force, sweeping the bare mountain with fierce blasts, accompanied by drifting, hard, pitiless hail-showers. By long usage and frequent travel, I was well acquainted with the devious pathway, so I had no misgivings, even though I had to push my steed forward dead against the gale. He lowered his head to it, so as in a measure to shield his eyes against the blinding sleet, and thus carried his rider forward. I proceeded as swiftly as I dared along the track which now led along the western and exposed edge of the mountain, and continuing thus for fully half-an-hour, I was about to turn my horse's head down the slope, so as to cross a boggy streamlet which escaped here from the swamps of the summit waste, when suddenly a dark object was seen advancing. I stayed my horse for a moment to reconnoitre, as well as the scudding storm would allow me. Tho object, at first mysterious and ill-defined, soon developed itself into a horseman, whom I readily anticipated to be the stranger that I had till now been unable to overtake.

Our salutations were unceremoneous and soon over, and the first inquiry of the stranger was as to the direction of the track, "For," said he, "I have been poking about here for this half-hour, trying to find a path across this ----- swamp, till I have exhausted both myself and my patience -- I fear also my good manners."

"No wonder," said I, "for there is no path across it, and you might have tried your patience all night and been none the wiser. I am glad I have made up to you at last, as I feared to find you in even a worse dilemma; so come on--follow me."

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Suiting the action to my word, I turned my horse's head down the mountain's side for a considerable distance, till the streamlet clears itself of the moss flowing out of the swamp. Here I crossed, and then turned up again to the summit and so cleared the impassable tract that had puzzled my new companion. I found the stranger as good at following as he was at leading, so soon descended to the saddle between Flagstaff Hill and the heights we had passed.

"Now," said I, "here we have a little shelter: let us recruit ourselves before we face the fierce storm again. We will have three-quarters of an hour of it before we can expect to gain the comparative shelter of the spurs on the other side."

So we dismounted and refreshed the inner man with the contents of a flask that had been frequently useful on such occasions; then, having examined our horses' hoofs and cleared them from the clotted snow, we remounted and set our efforts to clamber up the steeps and brave the pelting storm again.

As the day was now well spent, time was not to be lost in traversing the heights of Flagstaff. The snow had now drifted into great wreaths, breast deep, which retarded our progress, and darkness set in before we found ourselves on the descent towards a little hamlet called the Half-way Bush. Having gained the brow of one of the spurs of the mountain, a temporary abatement of the gale revealed to our eyes the small village of Dunedin, far down--3000 feet beneath us. One or two lights glimmered out occasionally--oh, how cheeringly! I could fancy to myself that one of the lights belonged to the Old Royal, where Boniface Smith was no doubt ready waiting to welcome us with all the hospitality of his far-famed

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hostelry. We descended, on and on. How long, cold and weary was the road. The horses sank up to their haunches at every step in the miry lane. At last we passed one or two incipient domiciles, where newly-arrived immigrants were making themselves comfortable before blazing fires. We descended on and on, slowly but surely, and at last we congratulated ourselves on our safe arrival at the most remote hotel in her Majesty's dominions.