CHAPTER X
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Sails for the town.
CHAPTER X.
"Thus men, my lord, be metamorphosed."
GASCOIGNE.
THE next day, having already sufficient sawn timber at the mill for a full cargo for the Fairy, I set all my spare "hands" at filling up her hold with boards and scantling, whilst on the deck were stacked to the level of the top of the rail a quantity of long lengths two-inch planks, taking care to leave clear the belaying-pins appertaining to the throat, peak, and topping-lift haliyards, the foresheet, the vangs, and other ropes forward. I also got on board and stowed away in the cabin rather more than a ton of kauri gum.
All this occupied two whole days, and it was not until quite late that Na Taima and another native named Honi--which is the Maori way of saying John--and myself set sail down the river on our way to Auckland.
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As you may suppose I had not forgotten my precious nugget, from which I had taken the precaution to cut a fragment to show a Jew with whom I was acquainted, and who kept a watchmaker's and jeweller's shop in Queen Street, Auckland.
In due course we arrived in town, after a pleasant though rather tedious voyage.
I was early ashore and had breakfast at the Victoria Hotel, after which I proceeded to my Jew friend's shop.
I found Mr. Benoliel seated on his counter smoking a cigar, an occupation very much in vogue during the infancy of colonial towns, and before they became spoilt by the increase of population, by the immigration of a class of people from Europe, who were without much mind or muscle and who invariably were minus money, that accumulated essence of past energy.
"Ah, good morning to you, Mr. Crewe," cried Mr. Benoliel, shaking hands--everybody shakes hands with everybody else in the colonies--"and what has brought you to town?"
"A Fairy has been my means of transport," I replied, "and business and Atua pakeha (white man's God), whose precepts we dwellers in the bush
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Is it gold?
do not follow so closely as you of the town, are the causes of my coming. Yes, Mr. Benoliel, business, partaking of the nature of selling and then buying. What say you? I have a lot of timber only 20s. per hundred feet."
"That is not in my line," said the Jew. "Have you anything else on board the schooner?"
"To be sure. I have some of the very best kauri gum you ever clapped your eyes on. I want £25 a ton for it, and have not much over that quantity."
"Well, Mr. Crewe, I will see the gum before I buy, but I would not give the sum you name except for the very best cleaned samples."
"Mine is the best, as you will admit when you come to overhaul the Maori kits in which it is packed. But what are they selling over the way there at the auction room?" I asked of my Israelitish acquaintance.
"Damaged flour from Taranaki, blankets, print, crockery ware, and a lot of spears, clubs, and other curiosities from the islands," replied Mr. Benoliel.
"The last lot you mention is the very thing I want, to make up a box for my friends in England. I will go over and bid," and I crossed the street for that purpose.
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However, I found upon inquiry that the "curios" would not be put up for another hour, upon which I returned to the watchmaker's shop, and, lighting a cigar, seated myself with a bound on the counter.
Mr. Benoliel was now at work before his little table, which was covered with divers dissected watches under inverted old shankless wine-glasses and the other litter of his craft. He was squinting through his eyeglass into the bowels of a watch that he presently informed me had been under the sea, when in the pocket of an inebriated bushman, who, with three others, two of whom, besides himself, were in the same glorious state, had been swamped in their canoe on the Kaipara. The only sober man was a black fellow--a nigger--and the only one of the party drowned, and, more wonderful still, when his body was recovered, after about a week's immersion in the river it was no longer black, but had become white and was only recognised by the usual negro features of the man, and the clothing. This party of drunken sawyers had had a lot of battens in the canoe, and on their way down the river, getting into a tide rip when there was some sea on, the water lapped over the side. This they were unable to bail out on account of the timber that lay
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A negro washed white.
in the bottom of the canoe, when at length, being about half full, she turned the three Europeans and the African into the water; the latter was drowned in his endeavour to reach the shore by swimming. The others stuck to the canoe, and with the usual good fortune of the drunken, were saved.
"And is it really true, Mr. Benoliel," I asked, "that the negro washed white?"
"Yes. It is strange, and I should never have believed the story as told to me by Billy Glyn, the owner of this watch, had I not also heard of it from Mr. Douglass, who was an eye-witness when the body was found."
"I am quite fortunate to come up to town when there happens to be a sale of "curios" from the South Sea Islands. I have some mats, things of this country, and want to send a good box whilst I am about it, and should like to buy a specimen or two of Californian or Australian gold; have you anything of that sort? I have a little bit myself," I continued, "somewhere in my purse--Ah, here it is, but I want more, you know. Now, is this real gold, Mr. Benoliel? I have my doubts."
The Jew took the specimen from my hand, and at once pronounced it to be gold, only rather pale in
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colour. I urged him to touch it with aqua fortis, which he did just to please me, for he said there was no manner of doubt its being gold.
"But where did you get this little nugget, Mr. Crewe? It does not seem to me to have the same appearance as any I have met with from either California or Australia."
"Oh, I suppose there is variety in gold as well as other things, though gold is gold, and its value according to its fineness, sure and certain," said I, evading a direct answer, and in order to avoid any further questioning, I left the Jew's shop and passed over the street to Messrs. C. & R.'s auction room, where I soon elbowed myself into the middle of the crowd that were standing round the head of the above firm, and immediately commenced bidding for some blankets that that gentleman happened at that moment to be expatiating about.
After a while the curiosities were put up for sale, and I had knocked down to me some clubs, spears, and paddles from the Feejee Islands, also a very well-made model, measuring three feet in length, of a double-canoe, fully rigged, with a great triangular mat sail. I also bought a lot of shells, nicely packed with sea wrack in a cask. All these, as well as many
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Presentology.
other curios, I sent home to England, and they may now be seen decorating the old Hall mentioned in the early part of my narrative.
Having sold my cargo of timber for 18s. per hundred feet, and the kauri gum at the rate of £20 per ton, and having ordered what stores I required from Messrs.--, the merchants with whom I dealt, and leaving Na Taima and the other native to see about the discharging of the Fairy's cargo, I set off that same afternoon to pay a visit to my old friends, the Fearnley's, who, it will be remembered, lived at that time at the saw-mill up the river, and at whose house I duly arrived late in the evening.
All the family were glad to see me, more particularly, perhaps, the younger members, to each of whom I had brought a present, such as I guessed would be the thing that their juvenile hearts most desired. For example, I carried to my old friend Seth a pound of Curtis and Harvey's best sporting-powder, with shot and caps to match; to Jael I gave a travelling writing-desk, well-filled with all accessories; to another--a boy--a small paintbox, such as you may buy in England for the very modest sum of two shillings, but for which I gave no less than three half-crowns, a fancy price that yielded, I should
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suppose, about five hundred per cent. profit to the shopkeeper; to the little girl, Jael's younger sister, I gave a doll; and not forgetting the old man, to whom I brought a bottle of rum, which he and I that same night finished between us, though I must allow that Mr. Fearnley had certainly the lion's share.
My experience is, in the matter of gifts and presents, when I wish to please the recipients, not to bother my head about what, in my poor estimation, may be good for them, but rather give them something they will like. For example: give a boy a sovereign in preference to a copy of White's 'Natural History of Selbourne;' also never appear to confer a favour by a gift, let the "Thank you" on presentation be all and ample payment. If there is the faintest understanding of what we call gratitude or future good behaviour expected of the recipient, the chances are he or she will dislike the donor.
Oh, ye charitable people! do you suppose the poor love or even like you for your consideration to their wants? nay, rather, the needy detest you and your prosperity. "It is better to give than to receive," and givers owe much to receivers for placing the opportunity of winning some happiness within their reach.
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Rum.
"This is not bad rum, is it, Mr. Fearnley?" I remarked, as we sat before the cheerful fire of kauri-bark, and as my companion had just finished his fourth "go," whilst I was still discussing my first; to be sure, I drank mine mixed with water from the only tumbler the house possessed, whilst the old man, pouring an unknown quantity of the rum into a tin pannikin, tossed it off neat and shuddered, just swallowing after it may be a spoonful of water, for the purpose, as he observed, of "taking the corners off."
"Yes, the grog is good enough, but you drink nothing, Mr. Crewe; come, fill up your glass."
"Do you think, Mr. Fearnley," I asked, slyly, "that when we go to Heaven we shall bear any resemblance to what we have been on earth; will our likes and dislikes for material things remain with us, and our general disposition remain the same?"
"Well, Mr. Crewe, it is, perhaps, pleasanter to believe that we shall be ourselves again, only better."
"I have read, Mr. Fearnley, in a little book called ' Gates Ajar,' that the possession of a pianoforte in that better land is not unlikely to those who have found pleasure in music here; and following the happy thought farther, you and I, Mr. Fearnley, might hope to find 'plenty of rum' in the other
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unknown world, as without that delight, how could we be happy there?"
This seemed a poser to my aged friend, more particularly as by this time he had swallowed full half a bottle of good rum.
Jael had taken the opportunity, whilst we were in the middle of this discussion, to abstract from the rum-bottle a portion of its contents, her intention being to reserve this "to cure" her father in the morning.
After a good night's rest, a happy result induced by the previous day's fatigue, aided by youth and the before-mentioned bottle of rum, I was early astir. But not before the child-housekeeper, Jael, who I found busied preparing breakfast and attending to the wants of the younger and other members of the family, as regarded their several apparellings, for it was Sunday, and each and all expected their elder sister to assist and advise in the proper choice and adjustment of their "best things."
These little difficulties did not appear to arise from the plenitude of clothing in the family, but rather in the endeavour to produce a fair effect from a very scant wardrobe.
One incident struck me as displaying great in-
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A misfit.
genuity, and although the result did not prove a success, still it showed a promptitude and decision of character deserving better luck next time.
A week previous to my visit, Mr. Fearnley, being in Auckland, had bought many things for his family, and amongst them a pair of boots for his second son, Ned, who at the time of which I write was about ten years of age. They were the first pair of boots the youngster had ever possessed, and were of the kind or make known as "Bluchers;" unfortunately, however, the old man had not carried the length of his son's foot in his eye. Possibly he had met so many friends at Davy Shehan's hotel, as to somewhat bewilder his otherwise marvellously correct visual power of measure.
The boots were found, on his return to the mill, to be much too long for Ned, they were too big every way, but length was their main fault.
Poor Ned, with the first pair of boots he had ever possessed in his life, was in despair. Jael, with much good sense, recommended that the Bluchers should be sent back to town by the first boat, and exchanged at the store where they had been purchased for a pair a size smaller. The old man gave no very lucid opinion, having only partially recuperated himself
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from the effects of his collision with friends at the above-mentioned hostelry.
Ned, however, had made up his mind not to part with his new acquisition, having matured a plan by which he hoped to surmount the difficulty and render his Bluchers serviceable.
Without saying a word to any one he proceeded to the Mill Flat, where, adjoining the mill there was both a carpenter's and a blacksmith's shop. In the former building he first provided himself with an inch-and-half chisel and a mallet, when without more ado he cut an inch off the toes of his boots; he then went to the blacksmith's shop, where, holding the boot he had in hand firmly on the anvil, he fastened the upper to the sole with a row of strong pump-tacks, which were just long enough to go nicely through all and clench on the anvil underneath.
But, alas! poor Ned overshot the mark when he cut the toes off his Bluchers, for not making any allowance for the shortening produced by closing the upper to the sole by so novel a method of cobbling, he was unable to get them on; they were much too short, as much, indeed, as before they had been too long.
The above-mentioned boots were not only the first
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The saying of grace.
pair given to Ned by his father, they were also the last; for shortly afterwards the youth left his home to seek his fortune, and, some years after, Mr. E. Fearnley had risen in the world to be a contractor in a large way, having a mob of men in his employ.
But to return: after a cheerful good-morning from all, I swing a towel over my shoulder, and with a lump of soap in my hand, betake myself to the creek to luxuriate in a bath and a wash before breakfast.
I love a dip in the early morning before the sun has the mastery, or has got, as it were, time by the throat, and feel cooler and fresher the live-long day afterwards.
Upon my return to the house Jael was singing to herself, whilst at the same time she was busy with the preparation of our breakfast.
JAEL'S SONG.
The spring is coming back again
And soft the breezes blow.
Whilst bright and warm the sunbeams glance
And glad the world below,
But tho' the pretty flowers be rife
That fleck the hillocks gay
They ne'er can be the same to me
Since mother's passed away.
O lonely was the Maori's land,
And weary was the day,
O lonely was the Maori's land,
When mother passed away.
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Too late, too late, the pleasant sun
Hath touched the hills with gold,
It's beams had been a boon of life
Amidst the winter's cold
When keen the south wind searched our shed;
Dear mother sinking fast,
A flower upon the winter's skirts
That quailed beneath the blast.
O weary was the Maori's land, &c.
For me, in blossom'd sweets of spring
No more may gladness dwell;
We used to gather flowers for mother,
Aye! she loved them well,
But now they are not like the same.
No happy thoughts they wake,
The lips are cold that used to smile
And kiss them for our sake.
O weary was the Maori's land, &c.
'Twas mother made the spring so bright
With loving looks and kind,
And I'll be little mother now
To all she left behind,
To little brothers--sisters--all--
Be mine such love to bring,
That mother's gentle spirit still
May glad each sweet life's spring.
O lonely was the Maori's land, &c.
Did we say grace before this or any other meal?
No, we did not, and we were so far in the right, and advanced members of society, for I have observed, since my return to England, that it is not the fashion.
Seth now came into the house, having been at the stockyard milking the two cows, to whom the young
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Tawero.
people had given the names of 'Lord Nelson' and 'Blucher.' The former bovine female was a brute to manage, and whom it would have been impossible to milk without a "bail." To what man or country the honour of this invention belongs, who can tell? It is in very general use in the Australian colonies; and my advice to any one troubled with a naughty cow, who kicks like fury during the process of milking, is to have a bail constructed in their cow-house. For plan and specification of which ask the next Australian or New Zealand colonist you chance to meet, and should he be unable to give any tenant of "a farm of four acres" a lucid description, listen with misgiving to his personal bush experiences: he has only been a "new chum," a travelling swell, or a counter-jumper, when at the Antipodes.
After breakfast, Seth and I set off for a walk up into the forest, to where the fellers lived.
The kauri began about four miles from the mill, and here, just at the outskirts of the bush, the men had built their huts.
In approaching houses of this sort it is as well to cooee, whilst still at a respectful distance, and give the inmates time to explain to the dogs, who are always loose, in necessarily strong language, to refrain
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from worrying the stranger, else your welcome may be louder and warmer than is pleasant or desirable. My companion being, in this instance, on terms of intimacy with "Lion" and "Trousers," had only occasion to mention their names and present the back of his hand for their inspection to quiet the pair of hounds, which sign I conclude to be a kind of doggy freemasonry.
Here we spent the day roaming about the bush, criticising their method of driving out the logs; talking about timber prices, and other interesting topics relating to the lumber-trade.
We also gathered a quantity of "tawero" to carry back to the mill, after we had eaten on the spot as many as nature would admit.
The tawero "freycinctia banksii" is the fruit of the kie-kie; the butts of the leaves is the part eaten, and marvellously good they are when you find them just ripe and no more, also untouched by rats or insects. It is a good plan to tie up the unripe tawero to keep out such intruders. The kie-kie also throws out another part eaten by some, called uri-uri.
The leaves of the kie-kie grow about two feet long, containing a flax-like fibre, and are much used by the natives in the manufacture of wharikies (mats
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Sunshine in New Zealand.
for the floor), kits, and even hats--an imitation of the "panama" and nearly as serviceable.
On our road home to the mill, I divulged to Seth Fearnley my wonderful discovery of the gold.
He was not so much astonished as an older and more worldly man would have been.
I believe he would have been equally pleased had I proposed another trip in my boat to some new and likely hunting-ground. How could he, so young and inexperienced, realise the vastness of the fortune ready to his hand.
Poor fellow! my unselfish friend was hurried to his grave, broken-hearted and bewildered, by a demon.
But to return: he readily agreed to assist me to the utmost of his power, in utilising my great discovery, promising at the same time never to open his lips on the subject to any one.
"Whatever we realise, Seth," I remarked, "you shall have half; and when we have a considerable sum, you shall enter yourself at the College at Melbourne. You will learn as much in one year, with masters paid according as they bring you forward, as would occupy most youths three or four; and you shall send Jael to the best teacher we can find in Auckland."
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It was thus, sanguine for the future, we reared castles in the air, strolling slowly on our way homeward to the mill.
The following morning I returned to Auckland, taking Seth with me; and the day after, Na Taima having discharged the Fairy's cargo, and got our stores on board, we set off on our return voyage.
It was not until Sunday came round that I ventured again to visit the gully where I had found the gold.
Seth and I started after an early breakfast, taking Pluto and Herod with us; nominally we were supposed to be going on a pig-hunting expedition, and indeed, it was our intention, all being well, not to return minus a back-load each of wild pig.
The sun in New Zealand shines bright and vivifying, far surpassing that cloud-obscured luminary as seen in England, and this morning when Seth and I started on our tramp, grew into one of those glorious days so common at the Antipodes.
We walked on and on the track by which I had returned on the day of my great discovery, turning off the ridge where I had clambered up, we descended to the creek, and then waded or jumped from rock to rock, as we made our way up the gorge or canon to the tiny waterfall. There lay, untouched, the
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Whare-puni.
remains of the pig I had killed on this spot just two weeks previously. I am not altogether correct when I say his remains were untouched, Te ngaro (blowfly) had been there.
We stayed some time at Golden Falls, for so I had named the place, and also with an eye to our future operations examined carefully the immediate locality.
I was pretty sure of our position, and that we were about sixteen miles from the east coast, and decided to strike through the forest in that direction at all events until we caught sight of the sea.
We had no compass, indeed, practically it would have been of little use in such a mountainous and broken part of the country, and through so tangled a forest. Following a straight course by compass would have led up hill and down hill, and through endless mazes of supple-jack.
On the summit of the ridges the vegetation is almost always scant, and often there is a pig-track, or what in days gone by may have have been a native path. The Maories formerly thickly peopled the land, and a road once made does not readily become obliterated, even if unused for years and years. Marks of former occupation are constantly met with, earthwork fortifications on the hill-tops,
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and signs showing where dwellings have been, are to be seen in many parts of the country; these are mostly an oblong excavation, three, four, or more feet deep, the wood and thatch of the roof having long since decayed away. In some of these old "whare puni" trees of a considerable size are found growing. Often, just under the vegetable soil, the fireplace is found, with the charcoal from the last fire still there. These fireplaces are formed by setting flat stones on edge, a few inches above the level of the floor, and enclosing a little hearth some eighteen inches square. The "whare puni" is still used by the Maories in some out-of-the-way places. The side view at a short distance is that of a hillock, for the thatch of the roof is finally covered with earth; they are gable-ended, the roof projecting in front forming a kind of porch; there is one window and one door, both small, the latter a hand-and-knee affair as you go in or out.
Suppose you are sleeping in one of these places (I have, not a few times), before nightfall an old slave-woman will light a fire on the hearth, with dry sticks, there is only the door and sliding wooden window as an outlet for the smoke, and the old creature's eyes suffer accordingly; but who cares? "she is old, a slave, a woman, and ugly." When the fire has
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Bush tracks.
burnt low, all turn in and shut the window and door; the floor is nicely spread with Wharikies and blankets. It is hot and close, and must be tremendously unhealthy, as you can easily suppose, with six or ten people sleeping in a low-roofed hut, hot as an oven, and not a scrap of ventilation.
But in days gone by, before the pakeha visited the land, the above style of house was almost a necessity, Maori mats being quite an insufficient barrier against the cold during the winter nights, with the wind in the south.
After leaving the Golden Falls, an hour's climb brought us to the top of the dividing range of the peninsula; following this for a short distance in a northerly direction, we then turned off along and down a spur leading easterly. The forest is generally so dense in New Zealand that, when travelling, you cannot see far ahead. Perhaps the best guide is a knowledge of the course of the spurs and ranges, assuming that beforehand you have an acquaintance with the geography of the country. On most bush tracks men follow each other--Indian file--and all excepting the leader pay little attention to the road they are going; those who would become good bushmen would do well to lead when not obtrusive to do
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so, when you will think less of your legs or the roughness of the path, and more of the lay of the country.
A man who invariably declines the leadership will lose himself forthwith travelling in a strange country.
I have met with three or four white men whose knowledge of their whereabouts in the bush was infallible, fellows who, I believe, if let down from a balloon in the centre of the biggest New Zealand or Australian forest, would walk out pretty nearly by the straightest and shortest route.
After another hour's fast walking, we emerged from the bush on to open fern ranges, and still being on high ground, we had a fine view for many miles on either hand, whilst the ocean lay before us, calm, and without a single sail in sight. From where we stood the shore was, perhaps, five miles distant, where there was a spacious harbour; on our left hand we observed a fair-sized creek, having, as it became tidal lower down, a fringe of mangroves on either bank.
"We shall readily find a snug hiding-place for the boat in amongst those mangroves, for round by sea we must come, and you, Seth, will have to take up your lonely abode at the Golden Falls."
The means we took to avoid discovery, and how we worked our mine, I shall transcribe from my Diary,
