Huddleston’s Tale Of Murder

Press, Volume CIV, Issue 30793, 3 July 1965, Page 12

Huddleston ’s Tale Of Murder

WE four were seated comfortably with our host in his room at the “Hermitage”— my friend and I and two other visitors who had joined us at Lake Pukaki on our way up from the Southern lakes. We had had a strenuous day on the glacier and were enjoying the warmth of the fire, the good host’s whisky and his anecdotes of the district. He gave us lively accounts of the discovery of the glaciers, of the early explorers, of the arch sheep-stealer McKenzie, and of the climbing of Mount Cook by Green. In the course of the evening our host asked us about our trip in the Lake district, and my friend interjected to me, “Tell him about the coffin we found on the shores of Lake Ohau.” And so I spoke of how we had stumbled on an old wooden coffin on the side of the lake; how we had asked our guide in what manner it could have got there, and how he had given us an account of a tragedy that had occurred there in the seventies. The guide said that a shepherd coming down the track by the Lake had noticed a boat drifting along the shore, had secured it and found in it the body of a man with a battered head and the boat spattered with blood. He knew nothing further than that the shepherd had given the information at Omarama Station, where it was assumed that the victim of the tragedy was one of the workmen who had just completed a bush contract at the head of the lake. A party was sent out with the local police constable; and they, thinking a double tragedy had occurred, took two wooden coffins with them to bring back the bodies in over the bad roads to Omarama. The party had on reaching searched the surrounding district, had found traces of blood leading from the shore of the lake, but nothing further. It was assumed that the other man had fled and perished in the ranges. The empty coffin was left there by the lake in the event of the body being recovered; ¥ * ¥

Having given the substance of our guide’s story I turned to our host and said, “You are our ‘pasha of many tales’; can you tell us anything about this tragedy? With a smile he answered, ‘I think I know more of this than any man living, but I had given my word not to divulge any of the facts until the leading characters were dead.’ It is now safe to tell you the story, provided you promise not to make use of it without my permission.” We readily acquiesced, and with a cheery “Fill up your glasses, then” he began the following strange tale:— During the seventies I was on a station in the Makarora Valley at the head of Lake Wanaka. This valley leads to the West Coast via the Haast Pass. A peculiarity of the district is that the waters of the Wills at one period drained into Lake Wanaka. An earthquake rift between the Wills and the Burke had caused it to drain to the West Coast, thereby leaving a low saddle of about 1200 feet as the Watershed between the Haast and Wanaka. This was my happy hunting ground during the autumn slack time on the run. I had been on a short trip up one of the branch Valleys of Makarora, and on my return to the station to make arrangements for a longer trip over to the Haast I was surprised by a visitor riding up to the station. He proved to be the constable from Omarama —a rara avis in these parts. He enquired whether we had seen any stranger about the district, and informed us of the tragedy that had taken place on Lake Ohau in almost the same words as your guide. Next morning he returned to civilisation.

While 1 was preparing for my trip to the Haast some of the men about the place chaffingly advised me not to go as I might run across the “murderer,” who would very probably make for the Coast. I paid no heed however, and started that day, taking with me my old horse and dog, my companions on all my trips. I never took a gun, depending on my dog, on a catapult, and on the little food I took with me to see me through my six weeks’ exploring. Birds were then plentiful throughout the country, and I could always rely on getting a pigeon or a kakapo. The Makarora Valley goes up between high ranges up to seven or eight thousand feet, clothed in heavy bush to the snow-line, alive with birds that come through from the West Coast in myriads in the autumn. It is one of the most Interesting valleys in the South Island. The fauna and flora were most remarkable, as the low pass at the head was a means of migration from West to East and vice versa. The outfit I took was, as I have said, of the scantiest

and lightest—a plaid for warmth at night, a combination billy and dish which hung from my saddle, some penimican (which I manufactured myself from meat minced with raisins, oatmeal and spices, etc.), a little flour and sugar, and my pipe and tabacco. There was a blazed track over the pass, and this I followed down to the Mule Valley, passing on the way a branch track which had been made to avoid the Haast Gorge, and which I shall again refer to. At the junction of the Wills I built myself a “Mimi” and stopped for the night I turned my horse loose in a natural clearing in the bush. I was boiling the billy over the camp-fire when my dog came in carrying a kakapo; this I hung from a branch as my larder. I collected a lot of drift-wood and made a good fire in front of my mimi. ¥ ¥ *

It was a splendid night. Darkness had fallen at about 7 o’clock and the stars were sparkling up above the trees that overhung my bower. My camp was on the bank of the stream at the junction of the Wills and the Haast, close to the roaring rapids. The sound from these and the calls of the kakapos, wekas and kiwis made it a typical New Zealand mountain night.

I turned in to rest in my shelter with my feet to the fire and my dog curled up alongside me. 1 was soon off to sleep. After a short period of oblivion 1 was aroused by my dog pressing against me and growling. I woke and asked what was the matter, and looking towards the fire which had died down somewhat I saw a silent figure standing. I exclaimed. “Hallo! Who’s there?” 'Then it suddenly dawned upon me that this must be the murderer whom I had met after all. I called again, “Who’s there?” and he answered, “Who are you?” “It’s all right, mate,” I said, “I’m only a traveller. Throw a stick on the fire and I’ll make you a drink of tea.” With this I slipped on my boots and stepped forward, saying, “It’s all right, mate, I’m not a bobby!” He looked aghast and said “What do you mean?” and drew back. 1 pursued in the same tone, “I suppose you’re that chap from Ohau. I’ve heard all about it; but you’re safe with me,” and I told him of the visit of the policeman. By this time the fire had burnt up brightly, and I beheld a most pitable figure. The man was in rags. His boots were torn to pieces, and his clothing was stained with blood, apparently from a wound in the head. He was evidently half dazed and was but gradually collecting his thoughts as we conversed. I gave him a drink of tea and some scone and this seemed to revive him. I then handed him some soap and a towel and told him to go and freshen himself up. On his return from the stream I was astonished to find a younglooking man of about five and twenty. He had a short fair beard of some month's growth.. He was bleeding at the ear, which was half cut off. I bound his wound and told him that the washing had started the bleeding again. He said, “That’s where my mate struck me.” I told him not to tell me about it then, but to wait till he had had food and rest. ¥ ¥ ¥

We turned in and I awoke fairly late the next morning to find the man still asleep. I didn’t disturb him, but went off quietly to see where my horse was and found him in a natural paddock surrounded with coprosma scrub covered with berries. On these a large number of pigeons were feeding.

I stalked them and secured four with my catapult, then back to camp to pluck them and grill them on the hot embers. By this time the man was awake. We sat down to a good feed. J suggested to him that we should rest where we where till midday and that he could give me an account of what had happened, after which I would take him back to the aforementioned branch track and show him the way to the Coast. I supplied him

with tobacco, we lit our pipes and he began his story. Two years ago I left the Old country. My home was in the Hebrides—in the Island of Uist. I had come from there to Glasgow and taken my passage to New Zealand in hopes of bettering myself, leaving my old father and mother at home.

On arriving at Dunedin I was advised to go up to Omarama. 1 soon got work there amongst the sheep, it being the commencement of shearing. Whilst there I became acquainted with a young woman working in the neighbourhood to whom I paid my attentions and whom I took to be a nice, quiet girl. She agreed to marry me as soon as I could get a home. This spurred me on to a greater effort.

I inquired of the manager whether there was any work I could do after shearing, and he told me that the station would require a great deal of firewood for the winter and timber for fencing. If I liked to take the contract it would keep me going till autumn. The bush which I was to go to was at the head of Lake Ohau. I could be driven to the Lake where I would find a boat. I took the contract. Was driven to the lake and found the boat safely. A shepherd and I loaded up and rowed to the head, where I was shown the bush and pitched my camp. The timber was to be cut and stacked in readiness for taking away. In about two months’ time I had cut all the firewood and was hoping to get on to the heavy timber while there was a chance of getting help. I sent down word by a shepherd that I wanted help for a few weeks to get the posts cut, as it was too much for one man to do. In about a week the shepherd returned with a man who had been working on the station since I left and who was willing to take up the job with me. We got on well together and finished the contract.

Our conservation during our stay in camp had been general and we had not referred much to any of the people at Omarama. It was only when we were on our return journey down the lake that I spoke of the girl I was engaged to. We were making good headway under a light breeze; I was at the tiller and my mate was seated at the foot of the mast. I remarked that I wouldn’t be sorry to get back again to Omarama, as I intended to get married straight away to a fine little girl who worked nearby. He remarked, Well, that’s damned queer. I intend to do the same, and' I was going to ask you to be best man. Well, as that can’t be, we'd better get married on the same day. ¥ ¥ ¥

My mate then said that he was anxious to make an honest woman of the girl. I remarked, Oh, that’s a bad job. Nothing can be said about my girl’s honour. 1 asked him whom he was marrying, and he said M. F. who is working at L’s. I was thunderstruck and exclaimed, Good God, you lie, man! That’s the girl I’m going to marry! He replied in a jeering tone, Well you can If you like, but you won’t find her so virtuous as you think. Jumping up I shouted, if you don’t eat your words, I’ll pitch you overboard. I made a step towards him, but he seized a tomahawk that was beside him and threw it at me. The weapon grazed my head, cutting my ear half off. At the sting of the wound I saw red. I stooped to pick up our splinter-bar that lay at my feet, when looking up 1 found that he had got the possession of an axe. 1 struck at him to beat down the axe and in doing so overreached and hit him on the head with the chisel end of the bar. To my horror he went down in a heap.

I remained for a moment dazed: then my one anxiety was to get away from the lifeless mess. The boat had drifted into a shallow bay. 1 pushed here ashore and sprung out, rushing away half-demented into the scrub. Knowing that it .was hopeless for me to attempt to go back to the station I thought my best plan was to escape to the West Coast, of which I knew the rough direction. The nearest place I could get food

was at Long Slip Statj6n in the Ahuriri Vallqj’. It suddenly dawned on/me that I could not show myself in any of these stations, as they would be the first places where enquiries - would be made. / I camped out/in the open that night, and next day pushed on to Long Slip Creek, up I knew there was a hut /In the hut I found a pannikin, a bit of stale bacon hanging from the roof, and w small quantity of oatmeal. .This Was the only food I had for two days. Next morning I started up the valley and readied the watershed df the Dingle leading to Lake Hawea. I had to be very careful not to meet anyone. On reaching Dingle Flat I saw the Hawea station, which I carefully avoided,making my way over to the head of the Lake. I found the mountains rising precipitous and high all round me. I followed up the Hunter and saw a whare on the western side. Here I found a pannikinful of oatmeal and some sugar. ¥ ¥ ¥ My boots were by this time in a very bad condition; but I had to make the attempt to climb the range behind the whare, which I believed to be the dividing range between me and the West Coast. Portions of the spur had been burnt and the climbing was easier than it might have been. At about 7000 feet 1 came to large shingle slopes beyond which I found myself on a plateau extending to the base of a mountain peak. I tried to find a watercourse leading down to the opposite side, but was unable to do so for some time, there being nothing about but small blind lagoons. As night was coming on I determined to camp on the dead snow grass and moss in a hollow. I heard birds in numbers around me and in their burrows in the dead grass under me, but could secure none.

At dawn 1 rose and made to what I thought was the slope to the West Coast. From where I was I could see the valleys below but no sign of the Coast I struck the indications of a stream and decided to follow it. With great difficulty owing to the precipices and gorges I encountered I succeeded in reaching a main valley late in the afternoon. Here I came across the traces of a horseman who had passed a short time before, and I came to the conclusion that I was on the track to the West Coast. I cautiously advanced till I saw the light of a camp fire. I made up my mind to speak to the wayfarer and find out where I was. I approached the camp, and your dog awoke you. It was with relief mingled with dread that I heard a human voice again. Here he paused, and after we had puffed silently at our pipes for a short time I suggested that he should come back with me and give himself up, as I was convinced from what he told me that no jury would return a verdict of murder. He refused, however, for he dreaded that word of it all might reach the ears of his parents. Then he told me how, when a boy, he was very near killing a school-fellow in a fight by picking up a stone to hit him on the head with whilst he lay on the ground. His mother had stayed his hand and warned him that if he was not careful of his temper he would commit sbme desperate crime which would be the death of her as well. This had preyed on his mind ever since. He would not face a trial with a chance of his mother hear-

' ing of it, and no persuasion on my part would induce him to change bls mind. He made me promise never to divulge anything without his consent. As he was anxious to get on to the Coast, I suggested a meal and a journey back to where the track diverged from the valley. This track led through the pass at an altitude of seven or eight hundred feet above the rift, giving a magnificent view of the canyon of the Haast and the valleys of the Clarke and Landsborough westward with the snow-clad peaks of Mount Napoleon, Mount Sefton, and Mount Cook to the northwest. The track bad ended abruptly, having struck the canvon of the Burke. We had to zig-zag down a very steep path to reach the valley again below the Gorge, close to where the Bourke and the Haast junction. The former river had worn out a remarkable rift down to the level of the main valley. We here crossed the river at a ford, the water reaching up to our middles, a task difficult enough as I had left my horse behind at the camp. Near the ford we got a few pigeons. ¥ ¥ ¥ Striking the new track which was being made up the Gorge, we went up it until we reached a whare made bv the roadmen to keep their tools and extra stores in. The hut was uninhabited as it was autumn and the workmen were down at Jackson’s Bay seal-fishing. In the whare we found a few provisions left behind in tins — a little oatmeal, flour, sugar, etc. Amongst some discarded clothes we chose a pair of overalls and also a pair of boots very much the worse for wear. We decided to stop there the night. I wrote a note for my companion to get the storekeeper at the Haast to supply him with what he might require to the value of five pounds. I suggested to him that he should make a raft and go down the river on it to escape the dangerous crossings that would be unavoidalbe if he walked. This we made the next morning out of dead timber lashed together with lace-bark. We then parted. He wrung me by the hand and broke down utterly on leaving one who had befriended him, an outcast. I then returned to my camp and made my way home to the station, not feeling inclined to continue my exploration any further after the experience I had had. All sorts of enquiries greeted me on my premature return, but 1 divulged nothing. Here our host paused in his narration, and I asked him. “Did you hear anything more of the man?”

He replied “Yes.” Two years after some miners coming through from the Haast stopped at the station and during the evening I asked them whether there was any news from the Coast. They told me of a curious happening just before their departure. A young man was found shot througb-the head in a wharv a few miles from the Haast. It appears that he had arrived, there some two years before, and, having got help from the storekeeper, had started goldmining on a small scale in a creek nearby, taking over an old hut that had been previously occupied by a “hatter” —an isolated miner. Here he had made a fair living.

¥ ¥ ¥ It appears the storekeepper had become anxious, as the man had not been down for food for some time, and a party went up to see whether anything was wrong. They found him lying on his bed with a gun tied to the footboard. He had fired the gun by a string attached to the trigger.

On the floor beside him was a Scottish newspaper, and In it was an account of the death of an old couple in Uist (the Hebrides) who were supposed to have died of shock on receiving bad news of a son who had emigrated to New Zealand. These were surmised to be the unfortunate man’s parents. The paper had been used to wrap up goods, the storekeeper also having come from the Hebrides. I knew immediately that this was the fugitive I had assisted in his flight from the Ohau. So you see the old woman’s prophecy had come true.

la an article in “The Press” recently, Wiliam Vance recalled that F. F. C. Huddleston’s tale of two men quarrelling while they were rowing up Lake Wanaka was no legend but it was remarkably similar to a tale James Sutherland, of Benmore station, told. Huddleston told this story to a friend of his : niece when he was manager of the Hermitage in the 1880’s. This is her ac-> count of his tale.