CHAPTER III.
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CHAPTER III.
IN commencing this Chapter, I must ask my readers to bear in mind, that I have been writing of the first three months, and as yet have not said much on public matters. The following extract from the Lyttelton Times gives a description of the selection of land, by the first body of Colonists:--
"The new Land Office was so far completed, as to allow the business to be carried on there, Mr Godley, Agent for the Canterbury Association, and Mr Guise Brittan, who had charge of the Land Office, were on the spot at an early hour. The numbers were severally called out, and the applicants came into the room in order, and made application for the piece of land they wanted, pointing out the locality on the map. There was, of course, some difficulty in pointing out the exact spot they wanted, but this was immeasurably lessened by the presence of Messrs Cass, Jollie, Torlesse, and Boys. I may here speak of the labours and hardships, the heartiness and geniality of this brave band of surveyors, who laid out towns, and named our streets, when they were a wilderness of tutu, and flax and raupo; nothing could exceed their civility, and attention. At five o'clock fifty choices had been made, when the office closed for the day. Outside the scene looked busy enough, groups of land purchasers, lounging under the verandah, or lying on the luxuriant fern and grass, with which the streets of Christchurch were still green, discussed the merits of their selections. Around, horses were tethered and dogs quarrelled, bullocks dragging timber
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from the bush, raised the dust in the recent track. Dr. Barker's tent, which stands immediately opposite the Land Office, and is constructed of an immense stun-sail, formerly belonging to the Charlotte Jane, was remarkable for its seasonable hospitality, while on the next section, an eating house appeared in the most primitive phase which such an establishment can assume--a white cloth spread on boards supported joints of beef and mutton, which, together with bread, butter, tea, and coffee formed an excellent repast."
This extract gives a fair idea how business used to be transacted in those days. For the next three or four months we were busy getting on to our respective sections of land, building, fencing, and making gardens, so that in a short time, the Plains began to look populated, houses, "V" huts, tents, and lean-to's were springing up in all directions. We were very sociable then, and used to visit one another, but generally in the evening, when the day's work was over. It was always open house with everyone, and our friends would walk in quite sure of a hearty welcome; we always carried a lantern when we went out in the evening, as we should certainly have lost our way without, there were so few land marks. Our life in those days was very pleasant, although there was plenty of hard work and a dearth of comforts. I was much too young to do anything but enjoy myself. The climate was glorious, and we never seemed to catch cold. We lived in a whare, built by the Maoris of raupo, with a thatched roof, which was covered by a sail; it consisted of two rooms, and was made very comfortable inside, being lined with red blankets; there was a large fireplace, so that we could have splendid fires. Everything was baked in the camp-oven. In case some of my readers may not know
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that useful article, I will describe it:-- it was a large iron pot and was placed on hot embers, the lid was flat and was also covered with hot ashes; there was another pot used, called by the euphonious name of a "Go ashore," which used to hang by a chain over the fire, this was used for boiling. I remember one evening our having an invasion of friends unexpectedly, and like that heroine of ancient history, Mother Hubbard, our cupboard was rather bare; there were certainly two enormous loaves baking in two camp-ovens, but they were not nearly done. Our friends gazed with longing eyes when the covers were lifted off and an appetising odour issued forth, so at last the bread was taken out, and the crust cut off, and the centre returned to the oven; this operation was repeated several times, and with the help of some excellent corned beef, we managed to make a good tea. Fresh meat was not plentiful, but we soon had a butcher's shop in Christchurch, a small "V" hut, of course we had to fetch it ourselves, and many a hind quarter of mutton have I carried on the side of my saddle. A friend of mine one day remonstrated with the butcher for sending her nothing but necks, and breasts, and shoulders of mutton, and said she would like a change, he looked at her, and with a pitying smile on his bland oleaginous countenance said, "Bless my heart, ma-am, I believe you think sheep grow nothing but legs of mutton, you can't have one nohow till next week."
We had taken the precaution to bring from our ship a barrel of salt pork, and another of beef, so that we were not dependent on the butcher; we would sometimes vary our fare with eels, which were caught in eel baskets, made by the Maoris, and also by night lines. We also had pigeons, kakas, paradise and grey ducks, and last, not least, that delicious little bird, the New Zealand quail, and many a savoury
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stew have I eaten, reminding one somewhat of that famous stew, compounded by Meg Merrilies, which Dominie Sampson, liked so "prodigiously."
The following poem gives a good description of
THE GOOD OLD DAYS.
The good old days we bid them hail,
Long time before the flood, Sir,
Of tag and rag, and eke bobtail,
Had covered us with mud, Sir.
When "Pilgrims" in romantic mood,
Came trooping o'er the ocean,
And all things seemed so smooth and good,
We never felt the motion.
Few houses then were seen upon
The hill side up and down, Sir,
And what is now a Lyttel-ton,
Was but a little town, Sir.
Joint families in tents were pent,
When houses were not rented,
So if we were not quite content,
At least we were con-tented.
Then boxes did not let us stand,
However chairs might fail, Sir,
We milked the cows, that came to hand,
In foot-pans for a pail, Sir.
Yet, all were in a humble way,
Though some, alas! were boasters,
Who underneath the table lay,
And made them out four-posters.
This was the joke we used to hear,
From many a merry wag, Sir,
We'll pay for things which we call dear,
With money by the
Stag, 1 Sir.
O! money then was very tight,
It could not well be tighter,
But still our hearts were always light,
Our purse alone was lighter.
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Our fare was low in point of flesh,
Tub-pork and salted beef, Sir,
With only now and then a fresh
Of mutton, for relief, Sir.
Yet when by jovial rapture taught,
We ventured to be merry,
O! then Victoria was our--Port,
Marsala was our Sherry.
The good old days before us rise,
A vision often near, Sir,
They win our smiles, or force our tears,
But still their memory's dear, Sir.
We trust an influence all their own,
No change from us shall sever,
And may the seed, that then was sown,
Yield fruit to last for ever.
Soon after our arrival on the Plains we had a church, a "V" hut, built where St. Michael's now stands. We went to church one Sunday, and found it so full, we had to sit outside and listen to the service; but what grander cathedral could we have than God's own beautiful earth, what finer roof than the deep blue o'erarching sky, "no busy hum of men," nothing to be heard but nature's voice speaking with a thousand tongues! One felt more reverent and nearer God than in the finest cathedral built by the hand of man.
I must now pass on to our first Anniversary, December 16th, 1851. Hagley Park was chosen as the scene of the amusements, which comprised a cricket match between the "Working Men's Eleven" and the "Christchurch Cricket Club Eleven;" the W. M. E. made 165, in two innings, and the C. C. C. E. made 131, in one innings. There were also some races, horse and foot, the race-course was very rough, and the horses untrained, two races and matches formed the "krect card," a sweepstakes of £5 with £2 added by the Club.
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Mr. Jordan's Brandy ............1
Mr. Torlesse's Bob ............ 2
Mr. Holland's Jack ............3
Mr. Gartner's John Heki.........dist.
A match between Mr. Godley's Lady Nugent and Mr. Watts-Russell's Stationer, in which the mare proved the better horse.
Some wrestling matches, and a hunt for a pig with a greasy tail followed, and wound up the amusements of the day. It was the first real holiday we had indulged in since our arrival, and all seemed to enjoy it.
The Lyttelton Times thus notices the event:--
"Our first birthday is past, and we have celebrated the event as a public holiday, with every manifestation of public rejoicing. Notwithstanding the many disappointments which may have been experienced, for disappointment is an inevitable companion in all the undertakings of mortal man, it has been recognised by the great mass of the population of the settlement that it is good for them to be here."
One sad event happened in July, 1851, which threw a gloom over us all, I mean the death of "that true pioneer of civilization," Mr. William Deans, of Riccarton, who was drowned when the barque Maria was wrecked on her way to Wellington. He was respected among us for his kindness, usefulness, and sterling worth, and his loss was felt by all. His body was never found. A poem appeared in the Lyttelton Times, which shows the estimation in which he was held.
LINES ON A RECENT CALAMITY.
No deep funeral bell.
In pageantry of woe;
No plumed pomp is here to tell
The grief that "passeth show."
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Such signs by others treasured
May force the added tear;
For him our mourning is not measured
By day, or month, or year.
His mem'ry need not plead
For the fame by others sought;
For kindly was his every deed,
And genial every thought.
Of his home no grudger he
Of heart, and hand, and mind;
A very prodigal in sympathy,
For the sorrows of his kind.
To the near and dear, relief
Comes, in guileless words, and plain;
For the cause of their unending grief
Is his unmeasured gain.
---DAVID THEODORE WILLIAMS.
And now I will end this chapter with a few anecdotes. I remember an incident happening that would hardly be credited now, but I can vouch for its truth. A friend of ours had spent the evening with us (our house was situated in Hagley Park, opposite where the Public Gardens are now), and about ten o'clock he got up to go; my father directed him the way to reach Christchurch, and he left. Next morning about seven o'clock he made his appearance, looking rather woe-begone. "Good morning, Mr P." said my mother, "Come and have some breakfast, you are up in good time." "I have not been to bed all night," said the unfortunate man, with a most lugubrious expression on his usually cheerful countenance, "I lost my way, and have been wandering round the Park all night." However, a good breakfast refreshed him, and he went on his way rejoicing.
Another anecdote relates to Quail Island. Some friends were debating what it should be called, and
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one suggested "Staffa." "Did it belong to a Native, " said another, he would say "Iona" (I own her); upon which second wit remarked, the Native would raher call it "Icolmkill" (I come kill). I hope my readers are sufficiently up in geography to know that these islands mentioned are close to each other.
The appearance of the Ti palm, or Ti tree, on the Plains was rather remarkable, they rose amidst the short grass, with their thick stalks, and graceful crest, often on looking up from the ground, startling one with their likeness to men; one of our wags said they looked "like men as trees walking." A less observant youth having lost his way close to Christchurch was cheered in the loneliness of the prairie by the appearance of a man approaching him, he took off his hat (not having forgotten the courteous address of the old country), and said to the stranger, "I beg your pardon, Sir, but will you tell me the way to Christchurch;" it was a Ti palm.
