A CRUISE IN A CATAMARAN.

Press, Volume XLVI, Issue 7258, 14 March 1889, Page 6

A CRUISE IN A CATAMARAN.

[Bγ "Thb Wjlrbiqal.' , ] I got a horse from my host at Te Kuiti and prepared to ride by way of Hangatiki to Otoronanga. I have forgotten the name of my host, but I shall never forget his horse —no, never. I was told that there was a native track over the hills to Hangatiki which not only shortened the journey five miles but led past some famous cavesHone Patone, of Kurakariki, had told mc of these caves, and that some strange story of Maori deviltry was connected with them, but he could not recollect the story and try as he would he could not find anybody in the village who knew it. I determined to ride over the hills, visit the caves, and try to find the- story for myself. The directions I received were simple enough—'" Follow this track until you cross the second creek; then strike off sharp to the left through the scrub until you see a bare spur leading up to a low saddle in the hills; follow this spur until you reach the top, then you will see a wall worn foot track which will lead you to Hangatiki." The morning was blazing hot when I left the iron boarding house. My host of the building, who. is the son of a Bishop, was using stroug language about a truck, but stopped in the midst I of it to shout "iiood-bye." I noticed that the horse I was riding seemed 'as if he wished to leave his hindquarters behind in Te Kuiti or even to stay there I complete; but I thought this only j natural to a sensible animal who preferred i rest to a long journey. We walked along the track until we crossed the second creek, turned sharp to the left, struck through the scrub and came to the edge of a deep swift stream ; I found a ford, the horse looked at the water and walked backwards whilst I smashed a stick over his quarters. I obtained a strong cudgel, and with it persuaded the horse to go forwards, he walked deliberately into three feet of water and tried to lie down. However the cudgel and the bib kept him up* We found the base of the spur amongst a ' clump of manuka which roae fully twenty feet high and straight as a thicket of bamboo. The spur was steep, the ground I rough, and the horse required much peri suasion with the cudgel. The sun shone down with intense brightness, for there was not a cloud in the sky to soften its light, nor a breath of wind to temper its heat. By a slow and painful process we reached the edge of the forest which i crowned the hilla and there in the shade I of a clump of trees we stayed for a time to : lookaboutns. Theshadewasformedbytwo ' perfect rimu trees, five tree ferus.numerous I lancewood saplings and masses of clinging • parasites. The graceful tassel-like foliage of the rimus drooped until it touched the crowns of the tree ferns., whose fronds curved over in the tender green arches until they appeared to rest on the slender sword-shaped leaves of the lance wood. A rata vine grasped a big tree just on the edge of the forest, wound round and round it like a long serpent, and by its insidious strength was crushing out its life. Other vines would spring up and envelope the tree in their folds until it was dead and buried in the heart of a new tree—a rata tree with solid trunk of twisted vine*. The horse propped itself up against a giant fern and went to sleep, whilst I lit my pipe and stared about mc. From the shadow of the clump of trees I looked out into a world of sunlight; the air danced and quivered with heat, and the crown of the spur where I stood seemed like a tottering pinnacle which overhung the valley below. I looked on a land of nameless mountains and valleys—a land almost unknown to us Europeans—the country of a savage people, with a history and laws of > their own, with customs wild and strange*

and areligionfierceasthatof theoldpascans whose history we read with horror. There below mc, and as far as the eye could reach, is the land which the Maoris swore the pakeha should never touch wellat their hands could hold a weapon, and yet a pakeha railway passes up the valley below and an iron workshop seems side by side with the sacred house of a great tribe. That railway is only a narrow track and now the power of the pakeha is confined to it. the country on either side is not his, but he will have it soon; already he covets the fertile valley beneath mc and this great virgin forest will ring with the sound of his axe. It was pleasantly cool beneath the ferns and the wide stretch of view was very interesting. The beauty of summer seemed to rest on all things, and the glorious calm, so perfect here, gave peace to the landscape. Two pigeons cooed in the tree above mc, birds with plumage as glorious as the bronzewing of Australia and a love song as murmurous as that of the turtle dove. The pigeons kissed and flew away and for a moment there was a strange silence. Suddenly from the shady depths of the forest there came a low, sweet, long-drawn note like the sound of a sweet toned bell or rather like the sweetest chord of a great harp. The rich sound echoed amongst the forest arches, swept past mc and died away in the distance, then came another note liquid and tender and another wonderfully sweet then ping, pong, ping, long drawn and mellow, ping, pong, ping for five minutes or more. It was a bellbird ringing its notes, the sweetest voiced bird we have in New Zealand and one of the sweetest in the world. This bird is called a spirit by the Maoris ; it has scarcely been seen by the pakeha, it haunts the secret depths of forests and is driven away from every place where the white man plants his footI listened until the bellbird finished its melodious peal, then I woke up the horse and rode into the forest. There was only a foot-track amongst the trees, and it was simply a cavern through luxuriant vegetation. A long spray of lovely blossom struck my face; I tore it from the branch where it clung. It was a rare convolvulus with masses of flowers like pure white hare-bells, so delicate and waxen that the slightest touch soiled them, their perfume was rich and sweet, and even the old horse sniffed with pleasure. The great stem of a tree rose like a column from the path, branchless, and smooth as marble; it was covered with creeping ferns and mosses, and here and there on its pale-green surface hung vivid crimson vine flowers. I rode slowly through the forest because its shade was cool and its vegetation beautiful; but by mid-day I had crossed the highest portion of the path and had passed out of the opposite side. A hill range and dense bush was between mc and the only sign of civilization. I might ride to the south and eaap for weeks and never see a white man's face. Knowing that the country through which I had to travel was rough and roadless, I had taken bearings from the first point of vantage. The railway, which was my guide to civilised places, appeared to run parallel to the hills, and in a northerly direction, so I decided that when I crossed the ranges I must bear to the lefc in order to strike the railway again. No sooner had I emerged from the forest than the track 1 had followed was lost beneath the ashes of a recent fire. I rode on in what -I supposed to be the direction, and soon picked up a track which though faint led to the left and therefore I thought was the correct one. The path wound down a deep gully and was so steep that I had great difficulty in preventing the horse sliding down it on his nose, a method he seemed to prefer. The day had grown excessively hot, and the air in the gully quivered with heat like the gas from a furnace. Down I went expecting to see the gully widen out into a great valley or great swamp, but I was doomed to disappointment for on rounding a turn in the path I found myself on a small flat apparently encircled by bills* On this flat wero four Maori wbares, two facingtwo like sides in a quad, rille. Ihe w hares looked so neat and trim that I wondered who built them and half expected to see some brightly dressed wahine come out to welcome mc as a guest to her new home. But no stens of life appeared about the whares, no pigs, no dogs, no people. The place was deathly still, the air heavy and oppressive, it seemed, as if, in contradiction to uatural laws, the hot air had sunk into the hollow, up the gully, and rested about the level ground. I rode straight between the whares and gave a loud cooee. The cooee went flying round the hollow, and down the creek which drained ie I jumped off the horse, tied him to the door po*t of the nearest whare, and entered the building. There were reed mats on the walls and floors, beds lying as the sleepers had just arisen, a kit half plaited, and an unfinished weapon lying near. Everything was covered with dust and the place bad a musty smell that was sickening on so fine a day. I he fou r whare-s were alike in size and structure, each arranged exactly in the same way, and even the details were so similar that One could be mistaken for the other. There was nothing in the whares to tell any tale or give any reason for their desertion; they had been homes in the morning and empty at night; their occupants can have had no warning of their departure nor have made any preparation for it. I left the wharea and went down to the creek to get a drink. I expected to find something horrible at every footstep, and stories of murder and savage revenge came into my mind even in the brightness of day. The water in the creek was clear as crystal and cool as a glacial stream, but I did not care to drink it, it seemed to have a fleshy taste. By the side of the creek was a piece of ground that had been cultivated once, cultivated *nd planted with maize and potatoes ; both had grown and died without being harvested, grown and died through many seasons until now both were weeds. A wooden hoe rested against a large stone, and a beautiful lizard was stretched full length on the handle. I touched the hoe and the lizard disappeared. Theluzy old horse that cost mc so much hard work to urge along, was now pricking up its ears, stamping and snorting, as if alarmed; he made one or two attempts to break from the whare where I had tied him, but I continued to exam ine the place until I heard a loud crash, and saw that the horse really had broken loose. I ran to intercept tiim at the path, and called to him, and when I called he came quietly towards mc, which surprised mc very much. I discovered that there was no other exit from the deserted settlement save by the path I had come. A rat certainly might follow the creek in its downward courne, but I and the horse could uot. I had followed the wrong track, 1 had stumbled across a place that was either unknown or tapu, and if unknown, what had become of its inhabitant* f and if tapu, for what ? The horse went quite briskly up the path again and soon reached the place where I had diverged. I suppose the fact of losing the right track and getting Into such a queer place weakened my confidence as a traveller through rough country, for I felt strongly inclined to return to Kuiti, but I did not combat my usual inclination to go forward, and the conse. quence was that I hunted about the place cleared by the fire until I found another track which led to the right. I rode along it over numberless wave-like downs covered with fern and manuka, terribly monotonous and very hot. As I rode I pondered over the mystery of those deserted whares andhad just pictureda fearful crime and a tapu when the horse stumbled and caused mc to moralise on his species, amongst which I have had many acquaintances. The horse is not that noble, tract*

able friend to man storybooks would have as believe, the people who write stories about this animal are usually women who can't distinguish between a cob and a racehorse, and are afraid to get into a hansom. Let the man who chases his hobbled horse through miles of an Australian forest and sees it stand amidst the black mud of a billabong speak about the animal, let the man who runs races with one round a paddock on a wet cold morning write about it. And the legends of the Arab steed, why they are only believed by people who couldn't tell one from a cart horse. lam sure the Bedouin who calls tenderly for the " pride of his heart" t° come and be saddled tells it to go and be when he sees it career over the desert before him. The horse is a useful animal when well trained, but juch a one as I bestrode is only a beast, rough, ugly, and stupid. He carries mc along however over a track which is not more than a foot | wide, and as eccentric in its course as must have been the first person who trod it. I reach the summit of a bare white hill and see below mc a great swamp like a sea, a dead level of dull green ruches. The sun strikes fiercely down and the air is still as airless space. I am filled with the idea chat I am going wrong; I should have the hill range on my left according to the bearinge I took but they rise like a wall to the right and extend into infinite distances. I grow thirsty and think of. the creek in the hollow, then I look over the vast swamp and fancy I see a cluster of Maori whares on its furthest shores, but looking in different directions I see clusters every, where, all in fours two facing two, like sides in a quadrille. So confident am I that I have missed the proper track that I begin to wonder whether the horse will have sense enough to carry mc back to Te Kuiti or whether he will be content to wander about in search of feed if I trust to his sagacity. A horse carried mc out of the scrub once in Australia but then he was a sensible beast and knew there was feed in the home paddock. The track will lead somewhere, I know, but whether to another deserted cluster of whares or the edge of some swamp, or whether to some native village far in the interior I cannot say, but I ride along it still, over rounded hills, over creeks and bogs, but always with the great swamp in view, until it winds up a gully into a region of limestone rocks that are scattered about in curious positions. Some of these look like monuments to Maori heroes; others seem to form the walis of pagan temples, or circles round sacrificial alters. A creek crosses the path, the horse stops to drink, and whilst he is doing this, I see the mouth of a great cavern gaping in the hillside. I have come the right road after all, my bearings were faulty, here are the Hangatiki caves, for there is no mistaking them after the description given of their entrance by a Maori friend. I tie the horse to a tree fern, take a piece of candle (which I have brought for the purpose) from my knapsack and enter the cavern. I pass through a great archway of rock and enter the bowels of the earth. The floor of the cave is wet and muddy, the candle will not show mc the roof, there is nothing beautiful about the place, no sign of a story about it, no names on the walls, and no stalactite?. It is simply a big wet hole, which I see continues further than I would like to explore with an inch of candle. I leave the cave without regret, mount my steed, and push on. In half an hour I see the railway like a white path across a swamp and the painfully new buildings of the Hangatiki station gleaming in the sunlignt. The track was right and I was wrong, but even now I consider that by all the laws of directions I should hav e kept the hills on my left to reach Hangatiki but I reached the place and was truly thankful for so doing, though I did not stay a minute there but rode on over low hills and across swamps to Otorohanga. It was a pleasant ride, for sometimes one entered the shadow of deep cool forests and emerged on the border of some great swamp where the smoke from native village* curled high up in the still air and all the picturesque details of Maori life were shown to their best advantage by the beauty of the day. On still, over the narrow winding track beaten deep in the stoneless earth by innumerable naked footsteps. Long processions of warriors have tramped along this path singing their songs and waving their spears, fugitives wounded and sore have crawled along it to their wahmes and their whare. Bands of slaves have been driven over it before their victors, carrying on their backs baskets of human flesh. Every few miles I ride brings mc near some small village or other ; sometimes I see the whares and the people, so mc ti mas I only see a narrow track leading olf mine, with prints of naked feet in the dust, and manuka blossoms scattered where a more careless foot has trodden. I feel like a solitary horseman riding through England a thousand years ago when I see the reed houses, by clear streams, with the eel bankets hung on the roof to dry whilst rows of fish dry in the sun and the people mend their stone and wooden weapons beneath the trees. It is late in the afternoon when I reach a place where the path enter; a broad shallow river which runs swiftly over a pebbly bed. There is no other road but to wade up the bed of the stream, and the horse takes to the water as if he liked it, and in five minutes takes mc amongst half a hundred people, men, women, and children, who are bathing in a large pool. The track leads out just above the pool, so I do not exactly join the bathers though I should line to. In a few minutes morel am in a strangely built town, more varied than the diggers' town I saw a month or two ago at the Mahakipawa, for it is made up not only of tents of all sizes and shapes, but new whares of reed and manuka, tin huts, and sack bouses. Pigs and dogs lie about in all directions, women are squatted on the earth scraping potatoes, women are stooping over fires stirring pots, women are doing all sort of things, for it in tea time, and I am in Otorohaiigo.