DEAD-MAN’S REEF.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CV, Issue 12531, 19 June 1901, Page 3

DEAD-MAN’S REEF.

(By L. A. WEDGE.)

Perhaps it is natural that the story should have some interest for all the members of the family, because there has never been any scaricty of money in it since the wonderful discovery was made, but certain it is that whether the occasion is a Christmas gathering of my sons and daughters and their children, or an entertainment held annually to remind me that I have added a year to my age, there is generally a request for yet anotlier detail of the good fortune which happened to us in New Zealand quite thirty years ago. I feel some sort of responsibility in the matter as I get older, and a wish, that a record may be kept of everything just as it came to pass; therefore I have decided to put it in writing and leave the manuscript behind me when there is no longer any need for a birthday gathering on my account. A voyage in those days was something very different to what it is now, and all I .can say about it is that if there was any spirit at all left in. anybody at the end of one it augured well for future capabilities of “roughing it.” People foolish enough to risk their lives in such a manner were generally given up for lost by their relatives, till a letter slowly sailed back to announce their safe arrival, and even then there was almost complete ignorance as to the position of the colonies —whether they were in the world or out of it, with a strong inclination to the latter belief which always gave rise to long arguments to the effect that it was much better to stay at Home. Everything was done to try and deter people from making the final plunge, and in our case prophecies of starvation were small drops of comfort which fell into our ears almost to 'the last minute. But all things have an end, and when once the start was made, my husband and I felt something less like the guilty criminals wo had been thought since we first ntade known our intention of crossing the ■sea. After all, we were not two such mad individuals as some supposed, but there was only my father in the secret, and he knew that we were going out at the invitation of my husband’s bachelor uncle, who had a run about twenty miles inland from Dunedin. He had pressed us very much to come out to him directly he heard of our marriage, enlarging on the brilliant prospects of a rich .gold reef he had discovered on his own land, but which he wished kept “ quiet,” adding that Arthur’s knoweldge of mining would help them to work it together. As for our chances of making anything more than a bare living in England, there were at least a hundred mine managers for every mine that wanted managing, and if any disaster happened to ours—such as a sudden acquisition of water —there would be yet one less. In fact, my husband’s position was anything but secure when “the” letter arrived, and it must always be “the” letter, because it turned the scale of our fortunes, and of those who came after us. Thus we sailed, about six months after a letter had been sent to Uncle Duncombe to tell him we could come. Towards the end the voyage became bearable, perhaps for the reason that it was drawing to a close, perhaps from the happy conviction' that we were equal to any reasonable amount of hardship. However it was, our spirits rose, and we talked confidently of the warm greeting Arthur Srophesied for us on our landing, “ If the [aoxds have not butchered him by then, poor old fellow,” said he. “He said there were no Natives near him; in one bf the old letters you showed me. How long is it since he went out?” I asked. “ OK, about Aryi, I X

know he was crossed in love, and told, ns he was never going to be sentimental again. Very sensible of him, I say, because I happen to be his only sister’s son, and he has always had a soft place in his heart for me. I was named after him, and he was often at oui> house till his beloved jilted him. He went out soon after. I wonder whether there is really anything in the reef.”

“Oh yes, the reef; I had forgotten about it. Is it anything very valuable?” asked I in my ignorance. “Well, it depends. There are reefs that are not worth working, and some that are literally mines of wealth; but I only know what I have read. I have everything to learn as to the working of one.” There is, I will admit, nothing very brilliant,about the foregoing conversation, but it may perhaps be answerable for the dreams which followed it. The date of the conversation was the 22nd of July, and the same night I dreamt that I was • digging, digging, digging in some little place half underground; what for I hardly knew, but all at once the roof fell in with a sudden and fearful crash. With this I woke to find that we were in the midst of a violent gale. The crash I heard was the smashing of the captain’s gig about three or four yards from our cabin. The next night I was again digging as industriously as before, this time, by a strange combination of circumstances, for myself. I thought I was groaning under some immense weight, and I woke without any satisfactory ending to my troubles. Yet again the third night my sleep was very much disturbed, but this time the ending was of an extraordinary nature and fearfully vivid. The scene was all at once changed to the cabin of the ship, the door of which opened to admit a tall, kindlylooking man. I had no feeling of anything like fear, it seemed to me, as he slowly approached our berth, and I thought he even took my hand while he appeared to try to speak. There was something very sad in his manner, and I suppose I must have been affected by it, because the next thing I heard was—- “ I wish you wouldn’t cry in your sleep.” “ Oh, but he’s gone !” I answered. “Who’s gone?” “Why, Uncle Buncombe. Didn’t you see him?” • • “See him! See my grandmother*! Will you wake up?” “ I am awake now, but it was so real.” “The best joke is you wouldn’t know him if you did see him.” “ I know, of course, it was only a dream); but what made me dream it?” “ If I might suggest—cheese for supper.” “ Perhaps so. I will avoid it for the future.” I don!t think I did after all, but I never dreamt to- such an extent during the rest of - the and nothing particular happened before we sighted land. After this we had a feeling that our troubles were nearly over, and it seemed no time before we were anchored in the stream. This was not exactly what I had pictured of our landing, and I remember a feeling of anything but security in stepping into the little boat which was to take us ashore. But we landed, that was something, but not everything. Where was the old man we had come to find? Where indeed ?

The long and the short of it was, there was no one to meet us; not that this bothered us much at first, because we found plenty to occupy our minds over our belongings, never doubting the old proverb that “ all things come to him who waits,” even uncles. But that “ time waits for no man ” seemed to apply equally in our case, because we wished to reach our journey’s end before night came, and' as it was past middle day wo’ began .to make inquiries as to the mode of conveyance, locality, etc. As to the former it was represented' by a coach, for about three quarters of the way; the rest of the distance would have to ”be accomplished by walking. The coach would not start before the ne±t morning, so we went to the “ Hptel ” for the night, and gradually became alive to the fact that quite three days’ time would elapse before* we could look forward to • sleeping under our uncle’s roof.

Of "the coach ride and. the roads (?) we passed over I could write volumes, but we survived the jolting, and when we were put down at an accommodation house with our goods and chattels, a strange lonelyfeeling came over ns as we watched' the coach disappear on its way. ; There were signs of habitation, hut it was sometime before our - knocks were answered, and then only children appeared on the scene. The eldest girl told us that “ father and mother had gone to the township ” (wherever that was), but we were supplied with refreshments, consisting of tea and boiled mutton, and we gained permission to leave our worldly goods “till called for.” Then we asked our way, and we were told to “follow the track a path leading off to the right. So, having paid our reckoning, we started off with the best intentions possible. But the track was difficult to follow, for.it took us up hill and down dale, and through no end of fiax swamps, so that the walking sometimes amounted, to wading. Truly it was an experience, but only an ordinary one in tli&se days, in what may be called the tin plate age, and we had yet much to learn. On we went up the lull-side j there would be rest at last, and many a laugh over our troubles, and indeed these seemed to have all but vanished as .we knocked at the door of a. hut. We heard voices within, those of a man and a woman, and it was the latter who answered our summons, and my husband’s inquiries for Mr Buncombe. “Sure now, are ye Ms nephew ?”

“ Yes,” was the answer. “ Och sure, it’s the miserable day for

Jit. “ Well, we found our way somehow ; but, as you say, it has been rather an uncomfortable day. Is Mr Buncombe at home?” “ Sure didn’t I tell ye it’s the miserable day for ye, and how wid I Be after lettin’ ye know yere uncle’s no wheer to be iound.” „ • , , , “How, my good woman? What has haprphe* lady’s dialect was difficult of comprehension ; therefore I will give the substance of it, which was in reality a deathknell to all our hopes. The poor man had been missing since the 22nd of the last month (July). Kindly observe the date. Our now acquaintance “ did ” for him every day, and she and her husband, who acted as shepherd, lived in another hut over the next ridge. On the date named, “ sure ehe sorted up as usual,” and, cooking the dinner, left it to keep warm till he came in, as he generally did between one and two o’clock. She lelt the key under the usual stone, and went away, having finished her work for that day. The next morning when she went tor the key it was in exactly the same position she had left it in. She remembered some detail which I forget; but something struck her that the key had not been used j then she looked at the chimney and there was no smoke. When she went in, she again found everything as she had put it the day before, and the dinner untouched. It would be useless to try and remember everything as it was told to us; in fact, at that time I did not understand so much Irish as I do now, and I was only able to grasp the fact that, the poor man had been missing for nearly a month, and that very ‘ little hope was held out of our ever seeing him. The trooper had been out nearly every day, and “ sure the pollis had done their part anyway.” This worthy couple had remained in charge till our arrival, which the old man had talked about a little tipie before he disappeared, and they seemed to look to us for all sorts of instructions; whilst for our part we felt almost diffident about giving them, or taking possession. "All I know is that from first to last their presence was a perfect godsend to us, and I believe that but for them we should have been tempted to forego our claim. Of course we knew that if anything had really happened to our uncle my husband

was his nearest relative, hut the uncertainty, the wild-looking place—the evervthing, in fact—seemed to suggest a speedy return to England. Strange as it was at first, gradually we got used to our position, reconciled to the loneliness of it, and determined to make the best of it.

The sheep were rapidly increasing, and the run was a valuable property, so wo made up our minds to stay and “see it out,” as Arthur said. In all this, as I have said, we were helped and guided very much by Mary and Tim Flanigin. She “ did ” for us till her death, ten years later, and much —very much happened in that .time, and her occu-

pation was varied from time to time, but she was equal to anything, and I' missed her sorely. Before she died she welcomed our youngest child. We had three Hying, two boy® and this last, a girl. The bays were growing wonderfully, , both strong and healthy, but with -widely different tastes. The second was always working, and sad to say the eldest 1 was'much given to idling about. I was often troubled about this, but poor old Mary had always comforted me with, “ Sure, he’d be a good boy yet”—“Sure, he’d make his'fortune yet.” Indeed, all that seemed to trouble her was how I should bake the bread and wash the clothes —and surely both were a source of wonderment to me at first. But I “managed,” as scores have done under the same circumstances- Old Tim’s welfare seemed more assured to her, for I suppose she knew that we should look after him as long as he lived. “ Sure, it’s you, darlint I’m thinking of. Ye'll promise to get someone else.” Of course I promised, aud sometimes we did) try servants, but the worry of them was great, and I was often thrown on my own resources. Old Mary’® place of friend and help in time of trouble was never filled; this much' I owe her, for she it was who .made-colonial life supportable. After she was gone Inaturally found everything very awkward) and hard to accomplish, and gradually the conviction dawned on us that we should try to get a “title” to the properly, for the purpose of selling out and going Home with the proceeds. Yes! We were actually so near as that to missing the whole thing. Fortunately • for us, the , “ title ° was hard to get, involving' time as well as expense. It. came to us in ;4 simple way at last, so simply and so'sadly that we quite forgot to rejoice over it. We had just seen the last of a rain-ex-tending over three weeks. The creeks were all swollen to an unfordable extent, and from our house we could hear the roar of the Boilover, a rushing, tearing river even in its natural state. Bart of our run .was bounded by it, and we had all supposed it was answerable for our uncle’s death. We were, noon to find to th. 6 contrary 9 thougn. I should say that the rain and my eldest boy were chiefly instrumental in the “find. ( The rain, as I have said, was dreadful. It did no end’of damage, and in one place on the run it caused a landslip—nothing very much, but being on the hillside it was dangerous for the sheep, so it had to be fenced. Old Tim was the fencer, and our idle son was with him. As usual, instead of being much help, he was amusing .himself with his dog. ’ ~ This is what they told me afterwards. kittle Arthur was bent on. seeing whether there were any Maori hens about, and wheni«the dog seemed to scent something, he borrowed old Tim’s spade, and dug and poked about os only children do. -Between the three of them they made a hole in the debns, but they were' horrorstruck whm they found what they had dug down to. - - • First they dame upon a large,bone, then some smaller ones, and then a* human skull —nothing more nor less. “Sure, it’s the poor.old boss, and it’s how be met his death,” said Tim. ' They reverently covered up the bones, and left the fencing for that day—indeed, it was never finished. ■ We were all shocked by the discovery, as may be supposed, and my husband was soon on the spot. $ They took out al the bones carefully, and they were afterwards buried with due respect. The identity was ■ fully established by the filing of the old man ? s watch, whicS* cOU ld scarcely have had its match in the colony. It was v an old verge, and this is saying a good deal, for it was admirably odapted for a sojourn underground. It had two metal cases, and an outside shagreen one. : When, it was found, the shagreen had disappeared, and the hinges of the outride metal case had given way, but the inside case was intact, though, of course, hard to open. • i > When this was accomplished, there was something inside which brought the tears to my eyes. . It was a lock of golden hair, and • ' a miniature of a young girl. It could scarcely have been -in a safer - place,- and seemed to have been cut down to the size of it, so that only the' face and neck were visible. I know/ my husband and I exchanged glances, and! perhaps ■we both thought of our conversation on the ■ ■ ship, and I were not far wrong when we put the hair and the miniature down to “sentiment.” •

But this was not all we found. Close by the skeleton—for there is no prettier word for it—there were a pick and shovel and a heap of loose stone. In that stone there was gold,'and'there is the whole secret of our present wealthy state. The reef it came from was within a foot or two, and near it there were other reefs jjftill richer; . but the first .was always known to us aa the Bead Man’s; and now for an explanation, as far as we could find one. There Is little doubt this was the reef Uncle Buncombe had written about, also that the v “knowledge of mining” would have been of material use to him, for from the appearance of the hole no “timber” had Been "■ used, and the poor old fellow seemed to have burrowed into the hill from a point two or three yards away. Tim Flanlgin told ,us that there had been violent rains about the time of the disappearance, so that the idea suggested itself that perhaps a previous slip had been caused after the same manner as the last one. As a matter, of fact there were always streams down the side of the hill, and they were swollen after rain. We could only “ suppose ” at the best, for no one had been in the secret, though there is ■ one fact I should like to recall before I put down my pen. The 22nd of July was the, date cf my first dream on board ship; the 22nd was j also the date of the disappearance. This is, of course, a coincidence, but why I was so near the facts all through is quite beyond solution, for we are always' taught to avoid superstition and not to believe in dreams. ■