BUSH EXILES.

Evening Star, Issue 12883, 4 August 1906, Page 2

BUSH EXILES.

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NEED OF THE CATLINS RAILWAY. [By Oub Sfbcial Rbpobxje.3 No~~3. There is cm evU which I have seen wider the sun, as an error which proceedeth from the ruler. —Ecclenastes. When I was on my way to Owaka I travelled with a constable, who had taken to town a worn-out old man, who had died in the hospital that morning because he had no more any strength in him to live. • And this has nothing to do with the Catlins Railway. Coming in with the mails from The Ford, which is over the range and beyond the beach and a long way from Catlins River, we picked up a passenger We were late, and she was waiting for us—she and two g»rls who wore boots like men' 6 boots becai.se of the mud. She was standing at a small gate in an incongruous v;ire fence; beliind her was a packing-case bcu;e at whose door stood another woman tyith a baby; all around her was a tumbled, jumbled wilderness of stumps and logs—probably called a clearing—and ajl around the clearing was primordeal forest. Because the proper mail-coach was too big and heavy to drag through the mud, we travelled in a small spring cart, and the spring cart had already its fair load of packages and people. Therefore it looted as though there waa no room for any more passenger ; whereat the mother who was waiting looked troubled, and the two girte giggled uncontrollably. Mark the capneiotsness Of human nature. Most bush children are subdued, and .>erious-eyed, and of solemn bearing; but these two girls, when they "saw their rrother (I believe she was their mother) discomfited, gigqrled—and that continuously till wo lost sight of them. Well, we made room for the mother and her small dre s-basket; Jehu Eaid " Woop Darkie !" ; and we went on, " splosh, splosh," through the bog that was called a road. The tw-> girls ran back among the stumps towards the packing-case house and the other woman with the baby; the mother said " When the cat's away the mice will play " ; and the old man of many experiences and much rheumatism, who balanced himself on the half of the tail-board that wasn't occupied by me, waved his hand at the gig•rlers and muttered something that sounded like "Well, well, th'rty years ago, maybe." By the mercy of Heaven we arrived safely at Ratanui post office, where there was wme sorting to be done, and some sealing of the mails of His Majesty King Edward the Seventh, after the manner of the big places in cities where the letter carriers wear uniforms and they have typewriters and bras* railings. And here there met us a man upon a horse. And " 'Day, Mrs Blank," said be to the lady with the dress-basket. And " 'Day, Jim," said she. "An' how's Mr Blank keeprnT "Oh, he's no better." She lifted a tone for the last word and said it with a tightening of the lips. And then, because I couldn't help it, I listened to a conversation that may not be priutrd, though I think I remember every word of it. But at tix end of it I knew that a man had gone into the bush and struggled, strugglid doggedly, to make a home, that he and his wife and his children might live and have comfort and be happy. And I knew that after years of aching toil he saw that the promises that had lured him were false. But still he struggled and hoped. And then the strength went out of him as the light goes out of the 6ky; and he could not struggle any more. And I knew that he lav waiting in a hospital where they had taken him, and that the wife that he liad worked for in the days of his strength was going in through the mud to see him. Because she knew that he would never come back.

" And this also is a sore evil," saith Eclesiastes, the Preacher, "that in all points as he came, so shall he go: and what profit hath he that hath labored for the wind?"

Has this also nothing to do with the Catlins Railway? Not directly maybe, for the place where this thing happened is not on the route that it is proposed for the railway to go. But note this: th> shadow of death—lon?ly, stealt'iy, bush de th—irot n>e as I went into the district; and the shadow of death followed me as I came out. And between the going and the coming there were six days. • • • » •

Looking over a scrap book T find a cutting dated June, 1899. It is a report of a public metinjr hold at Owk-. And T that one of the speakers (Mr Craig, an old settler) said this:

Week after week we have surrenders coming in. The settlers are cursed by want of a railway. Thoy cannot get their timber out. They have no money to keep them going. They went on the land anticipating a railway. They bave never got it. Also I find this report of a speech by Mr Fea (then of Tabakopa): The settlers had a great deal to put np with. They had not a great deal of money when they went there. If the Government did not give them employment they would, in many cases, have to give up their homes. If the railway were extended eighteen or twenty miles numbers of them could utilise their timber by sawing up posts, sleepers, etc., and they wouM not be so dependent on the Government for aid. ... He thought it very inconsistent on the part of the Government to spend large sums annually in planting forests, and yet at the same time putting settlers in a place where so much splendid timber was being wasted for want of facilities to get it to market. He considered that it was a crying shame, and a disgrace, and a sin. Believe if you will that there is another side to the argument—l suppose there must be. But it can only be a transparent side that will have this one showing through it. Justly or unjustly many of these settlers feel that tbey have been decoyed out there into the bush, in that they were allowed to believe that they could be good settlers, and were meant to be good settlers, and would be helped to be good settlers. Whether it is right dr wrong that feeling is there; and it is not a wholesome feeling for the country. Let this be noted as a significant fact: Years ago—roughly about ten years ago, I think—some of the sections formerly valued at 27s 6d per acre had to be reduced to 5s per acre. Which means to the State a loss in interest that need not be emphasised. It seems very clear, doesn't it, that there needs some saner politics if the country is not to make a dismal botch of the whole Catlins business. Sooth, it is botched and dismal enough already! • * « # *

I met a man working on the railway formation beyond the present terminus. He told me that he was a settler back in the bush somewhere. He came from Canterbury. For £2OO cash he had bought a freehold section. And he estimated that the man who had sold out (because his heart had grown sick of hope deferred) must have spent £SOO, and more, on that place. - The present owner is a day-laborer on the line, and he waits. What about the other man? This is not an odd case. I heard of several others like it. •*» ' • *

I was riding with a man, and we passed by a clearing wherein there was a shanty. "See that honse?" said be. "Yes."

"Well, nasty things happened there." "How?"

" Well, a man went there with his family to make a home." "Yes?"

"Yes. Tf he worked, *n he worked, 'n he worked. 'N then he went mad. 'n they took him to an asylum. 'N then his son tried it. 'N he worked, 'n he worked, 'n he worked. 'N then he went mai. Put him in asylum. 'N then a tenant come. 'N he worked, 'n he worked, 'n he worked. 'N he went mad. Asylum." " And what sent 'em all that way?" " Isolation. You got to be used to isolation." "I see."

Now, I doubted that stocy. And as

I went along Tasked people about- U when I remembered it; and now T know that it is true. I passed in sight of thajfc* clearing alone afterwards in va, misty" dusk; and when I looked up at the shanty I had a clammy shudder. " Yon got to be used to isolation!" This w an odd case, but madnesß is not strange in the Catlins bush. Dnnedin people have lately been subscribing to a fund for the children of one whose reason was taken from her. I saw the place where that happened. :■. • * ' »" • o

I would tel before I close this article how the people of Catlins cannot,'as ten as my experience goes, be tricked into any manifestation of surprise. The dull monotony of the bush has so gotten: its grip upon them that it has squeezed out the necessary faculty. This individual the most egregious thing in the whole landscape, with a pair of very new and.'too biff blucher boots on its feet, and a gladstone bag slung swag-wise on its back,.and a rifle in its hand, and an overcoat, tied on anyhow flapping behind, walked thfr whole length of-the railway formation to Houipapa one fine afternoon, appeared suddenly at the tops of cuttings where men were working, rounded corners atnhem without warning, and in general, happened in various places in as unexpected a manner as possible—and not one of them jeered, or grinned or even looked as if he hadnt been expecting me placidly. It was getting dark one time, and 1 had no particular notion where I might be. I saw a figure ahead. I would seek directions. Excellent idea, I would be facetious.' I crept up behind the figure and (remembering strenuously) I coughed and started to say:

" Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray. For here forlorn and lost T tread, With fainting steps and slow; Where wil3s, immeasurably spread, Seem length'ning as I go." i

" Ah, you'll be the ' Star' reporter that's goin' through here," sa'id the figure, turning—with a gradual turn. For a moment I lost consciousness.

Now these stories that I have written are stray and disjointed. I shall make no effort to give them any special applicathe impression on readers that the things themselves made on me they will not be in vain. The application will take care of itself.

For grave or gay, light side or dark side, howeve- you look at the life of these settlers you cannot fail to see that it is a dull, strained, deserted life, with little profit at best, and little joy. And they ask only for a railway. (To be continued.)