1888 - Duncan, A. H. The Wakatipians [Capper reprint] - CHAPTER II, p 9-21

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CHAPTER II.

EARLY in December 1860, the expedition left Coal Creek, and as the names of those belonging to the party will frequently occur in the course of my narrative it would perhaps be as well for me to give them here.

Mr Rees being unable to go along with us, owing to the arrival in the colony of his partner, Colonel Grant, who was desirous of visiting their property on the Pomahaka River, he engaged the services of Mr Simon Harvey to take charge of the expedition, and this gentleman was virtually the head from whom we all took our orders. Archie Cameron, a big Scotchman, who had been working at the wool press during shearing time, was engaged to give a hand at the driving, whilst Andrew Low and I were supposed to be the two who had the principal charge of the sheep. George Simpson

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was engaged to cook for the party and to pack and drive the horses, numbering thirteen in all, including a mule, and to John Gilbert was assigned the duty of riding on ahead to give notice of our approach to the different run-holders whose country we had to traverse. Harry Burr's department I can scarce define, as he accompanied us more for amusement than anything else, and left us, to go to South America, before we reached the Lake.

I think it unnecessary for me to describe the first part of our journey from Coal Creek, over the Maniatoto Plains; our crossing of Rough Ridge and the Raggetty Range, so I will hasten on to the time when, with the help of a boat belonging to Mr William Low of Galloway Station, having swam the sheep across the Molyneux, where the township of Clyde now stands, and having followed up the south side of the river, we came to the stream which is now called the Bannockburn. Here we determined to rest the sheep for a few days, whilst we prospected for the best route up the side of the Kawarau River.

With this object in view several of us pushed ahead, and I took along the bank of the river, until I was brought up by the steep gorge of the Nevis Creek, when, finding that I could get no further in

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that direction, I held up hill until I reached the snow line, but without having found any place where we could take sheep across this raging torrent. It was on this occasion that I came upon what is known as the natural bridge of the Kawarau, where the rocks overhang the stream so far that one can jump across the gap, if the roaring torrent below is not too much for the nervous system. I remember that one of the Dunedin papers of that date refused to accord to me the honour of having been the first white man to stand on the natural bridge, because according to Maori report, the bridge was said to be a complete arch, without any gap in the middle. Some years afterwards, when the gold diggers were wandering up in that direction in thousands, the natural bridge became the chief means of crossing from one side of the river to the other, the gap having been bridged over with planks, and then the editor of the same paper, remembering, no doubt, his former unbelief, admitted that I had been correct in thinking that I had been the first white man to stand on the historical bridge, and to gaze on the turbulent water that lashed itself into foam on the rugged rocks below.

It was nearly one o'clock in the morning when, tired and hungry, I reached the camp, where I

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found George on watch, and, having partaken of a pannikin of tea, some cold meat and damper, I crawled into the tent and was soon fast asleep between the folds of my blanket.

For nearly a week we remained in camp here, every day some of the party going in different directions trying to discover some way of getting the sheep across the Nevis Creek, and along the side of the Kawarau River, but all to no purpose, and so it was arranged that we should retrace our steps. Just as we had come to this conclusion, Mr Rees and Col. Grant arrived on the scene, having ridden up from Dunedin, to see how we were progressing, and they determined that before turning back an attempt should be made to get across the Kawarau River about a mile above its junction with the Molyneux, and, if successful in this, to hold up the north side of the first-mentioned river.

With this object in view we collected all the dried coorraddies (flower stalks of the flax bush) that we could find, and, after tying them into bundles, lashed these together in the form of a raft, on which to take the rams, the stores, and the nonswimmers across. We were well provided with tether ropes, and these were brought into use, wherewith to pull the raft backwards and forwards

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across the river. Everything being ready, Mr Rees, who was, and I daresay is to this day, a most powerful swimmer, stripped off his clothes, and tying one end of the rope round his waist plunged into the water and struck out for the opposite side. The current is very strong here, but, in spite of that, he succeeded in making a tolerably straight passage across, and made fast the rope to a stout shrub on the bank. We then launched the raft, with nothing on it, on a trial trip, but no sooner did it get into the current than it was swept down, and we all, some six or seven, held on like grim death, in the hope of saving our valuable craft from the remorseless torrent. In vain we struggled, inch by inch the rope slipped through our fingers; Harry Burr, with his clothes off, stood by ready to plunge in to do something or other if he could only determine what, when, without a word of warning, all hands let go their hold with the exception of myself, and, as I was front man, and standing in the water, the sudden tightening of the rope lifted me right off my feet, and plunged me into the river about twenty feet from the land, where the rope held me under, it being tied fast on the bank, and thus the events cf the next hour or so must be recorded by me from information which I afterwards

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received. The moment I disappeared Harry dived into the water and struck out for where I was last seen; grasping me by the clothes, he strove to drag me from under the rope, but instead of succeeding in doing so, the current sucked him under it likewise, and he also disappeared; at the same time Mr Rees, from the opposite bank, shouted "Cut the rope, cut the rope." This advice was promptly acted upon, and, as the knife was drawn across the hemp, the raft shot away and Harry rose to the surface, with a good firm hold of my collar, and struck out for shore, where he was soon relieved of his burden, and I was spread out on the bank to disgorge the water of the Kawarau that I had swallowed, and to come to my senses again. I was none the worse of my ducking, and, strange to say, my watch was none the worse either, although it shows signs now--27 years after--of the knocks and bruises it has received during a long colonial career.

After this mishap, the idea of crossing the river at that point was abandoned, and we retraced our steps to that part of the Molyneux where we had crossed before, and on Christmas day 1860 we once more swam the flock across on to the flat now known as the Dunstan race-course, and resolved to spell them there for a day or two. The work of

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swimming the sheep across the river was most arduous, as we began work at grey dawn, and it was dusk before the last of them was safely landed on the other side. Standing up to our waists in the water for sixteen hours on end, excepting the few minutes which we snatched in order to swallow a bite of food and drink a pannikin of tea, was a strange way of spending the Christmas day, and I have often since then wondered at the difference between the working men of the colonies in these old pioneering days, and the British working man of to-day. We never thought of going "on strike," nor did we complain because we were at times worked so hard. We never were such drivelling idiots as to form ourselves into processions and parade the streets of the towns, with banners floating in the breeze, and inscribed with mottoes suggestive of laziness, upholding the advantages of the eight hours movement. We used to work far longer hours than the labouring class has to do in Great Britain; we camped out and ate whatever food we could get without complaining, indeed, had the early settlers of our colonies been as fastidious as the lowest working men are now-a-days in Britain, the progress made by these colonies would not now be the

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admiration of the world. The British working man now works eight hours a day, he claims holidays and half-holidays on the most frivolous excuses; this day is consecrated to Saint Patrick and that to Saint Gladstone, so that when one comes to add up all the holidays he claims during the year, the sum total of remission becomes formidable, and the working man appears to derive his name from the fact that he works less than any other person. All things considered, the lot of the so-called working man does not seem to me to be a supremely unhappy one. He worships St Andrew, St Patrick, St Gladstone, and scores of other Saints, and I think these gentlemen have a sufficient title to the working man's gratitude, because they gave him the excuse for claiming a holiday. But in the pioneering days we had no holidays, neither had we any thought of an eight hours movement, and Sunday only differed from other days in the week by the appearance of a "plum-duff" on the dinner table.

I have alluded to a mob of sheep which Gilbert and I had brought from the Waitaki, and which had been purchased on the understanding that they were not in lamb. During the few days that we remained on the banks of the Molyneux River these ewes began lambing, and Andrew and I

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had to kill about 300 of the poor little things whilst we were there, as, of course, it was quite impossible for us to take those on the toilsome journey which lay before us.

Once more the tent was struck, the horses packed, and the journey recommenced, and we followed up the course of the Manuherikia past Shenan's station, and across Thomson's run, and then we began the ascent of the Dunstan mountains at a low part, known by us as Morley's pass.

Will we ever forget the night we camped on top of the pass? The only piece of level ground on which to pitch the tent was a bit of spongy swamp, and when we awakened in the morning we found that we had been sleeping on about two inches of water, a fact which called forth from Andrew Low the following remark-- "Well, we may be none the worse for this night's camp just now, but wait till ten years hence, and then see what effects we will be inclined to attribute to it." I remember when I was called at two o'clock in the morning to begin my watch, I went to the billy which was standing some little distance from the fire to get a drink of tea, and there I found that the tea and the leaves had been frozen into a solid block of ice. So dejected were we in the morning that we did not wait

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for breakfast, but, taking a few scones in our pockets, we pushed on, having determined to wait till we got to the more genial plain of the Lindis, before sitting down to a regular meal.

From that time till we got to Wilkin's station, at the junction of the Wanaka and Hawea rivers, the country which we had to traverse is level and bare, and so the sheep travelled well, but at Wilkin's the Molyneux river had once again to be crossed, which, however, was easily done with the assistance of the station boat, and then our journey lay up the narrow valley of the Cardrona.

It took us three days to reach the top of this valley, when, turning to the right, we struck up hill to the goal we had in view--the coronet of the Crown range. It was a lovely, warm, sunny day as we toiled up the hill, dogging the sheep in front of us, and ever and anon helping to put to rights the pack on one or other of the horses which had slipped over to one side, owing to the slackness of the girth and the scrub catching on the packs and pulling them about, but, when we did at last reach the top of the range, a sight burst upon our view which caused us, one and all, to utter exclamations of pleasure. Nearly three decades have gone by since I stood on the summit of the Crown range, and

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looked for the first time on the Promised Land of Rees, and yet I have only to close my eyes in order to see the whole view start up before me as I then saw it. Away in the distance the middle arm of the Wakatipu Lake lay glistening between those precipitous ranges which, in these later days, have given it such a character for grandeur of scenery. Nearer hand the Shotover and the Arrow rivers flowed like silver threads through the blackened, tomatagorra scrub-clothed plains which form the rich alluvial flats lying between that part of the Lake, where Franktown now stands and the gorge where Arrowtown now is. I may here mention that the Shotover river derives its name from the English residence of Mr Rees' partner, Mr Gammie, Shotover Park, and that Franktown was called so out of compliment to Mrs Rees. Hayes Lake glittered in the sun as it lay with scarce a ripple on its waters at the foot of a smooth and grassy hill, unnamed then, but christened by me, shortly afterwards, the Hill of Morven, owing to its striking resemblance to the hill of that name on Deeside in Scotland.

Those who visited the district some few years later would scarcely believe that all the open grassy plains over which it was delightful to ride were

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densely covered with the charred remains of the tomatagorra bushes, which Mr Rees had fired when he first crossed them, indeed had he not cleared the country by burning it, it is quite certain that we could never have taken the sheep over it. Those who only know the Lake district as it now is can scarce realise the difference which has come over it since the pioneers first settled down there. As we stood gazing on the new land, not a sound broke the stillness except an occasional gurgling bleat from some old ewe, as, with her mouth full of aniseed plant, she intimated to a neighbour that she approved of the pasture on that, the sunny side of the range, in comparison with the scant herbage on the spurs leading up from the valley of the Cardrona. Yes, we heard another sound away far below us, on the Crown terrace, as we afterwards called it, a noise like a human voice, and yet we knew that that could not be. We strained our ears and heard distinctly--"Run pretty quick, run pretty quick," the cry of the quail, familiar to us all.

What a change indeed has come over the spirit of the scene since then. Towns have sprung up, farms have been fenced in and cultivated all over these flats, and the ubiquitous grog shanty is to be found on the banks of every stream where there is

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water enough to mix with the spirits and bluestone wherewith the thirsty digger is solaced.

But revenons a les moutons, and these were rapidly heading downwards to the fresh green grass of the Crown terrace, so we had to quit the summit of the hill and follow them.

We had but little difficulty in crossing the Arrow and Shotover rivers--the sheep having become like retriever dogs with the amount of swimming they had lately been entertained to, and once on to the Shotover flat, our journey was virtually at an end, as they were hemmed in by water on every side except on that which lies between where Queenstown is now and Arthur's Point, and at that time this steep gorge was densely overgrown with scrub, impassable for sheep, and which was called by us "Blow ho' gully."