1888 - Duncan, A. H. The Wakatipians [Capper reprint] - CHAPTER IX, p 86-92

       
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  1888 - Duncan, A. H. The Wakatipians [Capper reprint] - CHAPTER IX, p 86-92
 
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CHAPTER IX.

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Chapter IX.

The Nokomai--Chaffing the Loafers--Arthur and Harry Redfern--The Bucklerburn again--England, Home and Beauty.

IT was now fast drawing on to shearing time, and as yet we had engaged no shearers to do the work, so I got orders to go to the Nokomai diggings, situated about fifteen miles from the foot of the Lake, and there to try to pick up a few men who could shear.

On my arrival there I went to the bar of the principal shanty, where I saw a good many idlers hanging about, and after talking to some of them on the subject for which I had visited these diggings, they brought matters to a point by saying that they would not shear for less than three pounds a hundred sheep, and began chaffing me and saying that the squatters would have to shear their own sheep that year. I was quite equal to the occasion, however, and had a plentiful supply of chaff to give them in return.

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I pointed out that I had never expected to get gentlemen of means and education such as those were whom I had the pleasure of addressing to come and shear our common-place "jumbucks," but that I would be glad to secure the services of any sort of loafers, and to these I would give one pound a hundred and their grub. An angry scene took place, and several of the most blaggard-looking ones demanded, with clenched fists, if I alluded to them as loafers.

I, however, was not in the least disconcerted, but repudiated any such meaning to my words, saying that I had only come amongst them--the aristocracy of the diggings, so to speak--to see if they could assist me and benefit their own community by pointing out any idlers likely to be of use to me, as of course, judging from the present company's appearance and the expensive drinks which they were imbibing, I felt sure that they were all in too affluent circumstances to dream of taking any such paltry remuneration as I was able to offer them.

Standing near me was a trooper named Mat. Callan, who was afterwards promoted to the detective force, and he, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "tipped me the wink," and following him outside

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the shanty, I found him convulsed with laughter at my chaffing of the idlers, for, as he told me, they were all hard up, and would be glad to get a job if they could only get one that they were accustomed to, but that doubtless shearing was too hard work for such lazy loafers as they were. He then told me that I had better stay at the police camp that night along with Sergeant Baillie and himself, as some of the chaps might be annoyed at my having made such fools of them, and would be inclined to do me a dirty trick in return.

During the evening, when at the camp, conversing with Baillie, Mat came into the tent and said that two of the fellows I had seen in the shanty wanted to speak to me, but warned me to be on my guard. I went outside, and there found two men dressed in rags, who told me that they were "dead broke," and would be glad of the job of shearing if I could get them taken up to the station. I told them to start off at once, so that they would be at the foot of the Lake early next day, when they could go up in the boat along with me, the only condition I stipulated for being that they would finish our shearing before making any attempt to discover gold, and if they did so Mr Rees would then give them stores to enable them to prospect the country.

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With these two I sailed next day for home, and so disreputable was the clothing of one of the men that when we arrived at the station and he heard that there were women living there, he refused to leave the boat until I went and brought an old pair of my trousers and made him a present of them. This man was Arthur, the discover of Arthur's Point, who made and kept the grip of probably more gold than any man who ever worked on the Shotover. His companion was Harry Redfern, afterwards his mate at Arthur's Point, and who started the first theatre in Queenstown. But I am anticipating.

During my absence several hard-up diggers had turned up at the station, and had been promptly engaged to shear, so we were able to start work at once.

It was on the 13th of November 1862 that we began shearing, and, on the following Sunday, Arthur and Harry Redfern went quietly off together up Blow Ho gully on a prospecting expedition. Coming to the bank of the Shotover, they set to work, and, with only a pannikin and a butcher's knife, in an hour's time they picked up several pounds worth of gold. Hurrying back, they came to me and told me all, and said that they must be off, as every minute lost meant pounds out of their pockets,

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and although I reminded them of their agreement they said they did not care, and it was not until I pointed out the fact that they could get food from no one except Mr Rees that they felt themselves somewhat in a fix. The men were completely off their heads with excitement, and when I took them to Mr Rees he saw that it would be useless to try to keep them at work, so he paid them off, gave them flour, tea, and sugar, and let them go. They at once pegged out the famous Arthur's Point claim, and it is now a matter of history how much they realized therefrom.

It was not until the 10th of December that we finished shearing, owing to the paucity of hands, and then we began to get ready to start with sheep for the top of the Lake, under terms of my arrangement with Mr Rees. But the stir of the diggings delayed everything; hands ran off from the station, and the few of us who stuck to our work were busy night and day. At last the services of a shepherd, named James Reid, were secured, and he, George Simpson, and I started with the sheep, reaching the Bucklerburn in four days time. But the diggers were keeping pace with us, for rafts and wretched looking boats of all descriptions were being constructed, and paddled up the lake side, and every-

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where the prospecting hole of the digger was conspicuous by its presence.

When we reached Simpson's Creek we found quite a little community settled there, and here we were able to do a little business in the way of butchering. I have mentioned that on our last trip from the head of the lake four lambs were lost. These four we picked up on this journey, three of them being rams and one a wedder. They were not more than fourteen months old, the first pair of second teeth being only just through the gum, and yet they weighed as follows--the wedder 72 pounds and the rams 82, 83, and 85 pounds respectively of clean mutton. Those acquainted with the usual size and weights of Merino sheep will be able to appreciate the splendid growth of these four stray lambs.

My account of the settlement of the Wakatipu Lake district draws to an end, as it is not my purpose to carry on my narrative further than the time when, the goldfields having been declared, the country became overrun with people, and the few of us who represented the original Wakatipians were lost in the general crowd.

My stay at the head of the Lake on this occasion extended over a period of about six months, when

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Mr Rees' runs, with the exception of the Peninsula one, having been compensated for, his right thereto ceased, and so I left the Bucklerburn station for ever.

For a few months I remained in Queenstown, which had sprung up on the site of our home station, the woolshed having been purchased from Mr Rees and opened as "The Queen's Hotel," and then, having invested in some land in Southland, and having built a house thereon, I stocked it up, and leaving it in charge of George Simpson, I sailed for England, home and beauty.

Three years afterwards I revisited the Lake district, but what a change had come over everything. A few of my old friends still remained, but alas! they were very few indeed, and even these had lost the homely friendly style which characterized the old Wakatipians, and had developed a taste for the bustle of crowded haunts, and for the pleasures which wealth alone can produce.

On the bank of the Waitaki river, Mr and Mrs Rees and I again met before I sailed from New Zealand in 1868, and I mean no insinuation when I say that we three heartily agreed that the life in the Wakatipu District, before the advent of the diggings, was far preferable to what could possibly be had there after that time.


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