THE FLOUR-TRAIN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LI, Issue 15504, 10 January 1914, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE FLOUR-TRAIN.

BY ARCHDEACON WALSH. There was trouble in the mission station serious trouble there seemed to be no prospect of overcoming. It had nothing to with the Maoris. Since the great warrior Hongi had breathed his last breath through the bullet hole in his side, accidentally inflicted by one of his own followers, the little community were no longer distracted by war's alarms, nor were the wives and children any more terrified with the sight of the grisly trophies of preserved heads and the kite of human flesh brought home by the returning war parties.

Peace and harmony reigned in the settlement, and the work of the mission went on on greased wheels. The women and girls were learning the mysteries of European housekeeping; the first-, standard children were able to spell words of two syllables, while the show-boy had already made acquaintance with long division. The whole community flourished under the benevolent despotism of Hone Timihanga, a retired cannibal of benevolent appearance and bland and courteous manners, who stood between his pakehas and any vexatious aggression from outside competitors.

The year had been a more than usually prosperous one. Food was abundant and of superior quality. The fishing and birdcatching expeditions had not only supplied immediate wants, but in the matter of dried shark and smoked? mullet, and pigeons and mutton-birds preserved in their own fat, had provided sustenance for months to come. It was the same in the vegetable department. All the favourite varieties of the potato—the Poneke, tie Pokohinu, the Panikau, the Ahiuriri, and the Raramu come in their season. The komara vines, green and luxuriant, covered the ground, and already some skilful old women were groping under the soil for the more forward rubers," whatatau kite ara," as, they called it, or "meeting the crop on the road." Still, there was something wrong. The missionary was anxious and depressed, and the feeling seemed to be intensified as time went on. But why continue the mystery ? The trouble was really a very simple one. It arose from the fact that the;stock of European provisions was running out, and there appeared to be no prospect- of replenishing it. In those early days there were no shops or stores, and the supply was dependent on the periodical visit of a vessel from Sydney; and the vessel at this time was long overdue. Tea and sugar were exhausted, and the last bag of flour, in spite of the most drastic attempts an economy, was being rapidly depleted. This may seem a small matter to worry about, but anyone who has been dependent on a diet of Maori provisions without some little European flavouring will remember that the most succulent pigeons and mutton-birds without a sprinkle of salt become nauseous in the extreme, while kumara and potatoes, though, nourishing and sustaining, cannot take the place of a crisply-baked loaf at breakfast,' dinner, and tea.

One evening, as the missionary was trying to enjoy a pipenow a jure luxury on his verandah, after the labours of "the day, he became aware of the presence of the old kaumatua, whose bare feet had made no noise as he came leisurely round the corner, and seated himself on the step. The chief sat for some minutes gazing on the ground, when at length he looked up, and, laying his hand gently on the missionary's knee, he said : " My brother's heart is dark. Why does he hide his trouble from his friend?" "It is kind of you to talk like that," said the missionary, " but I fear you cannot help in this matter." " That we never know till the time comes. Tell me the trouble." And with that the missionary, as delicately as he could, explained the situation. "There is an American whale-ship in Mangonui," said the Maori, "with plenty flour, plenty tea, plenty sugar, plenty pakeha kai." "But what good is that?" was the answer; "Mangonui is 20 miles away, and we have no horses here yet, and if we had there is no road on which they could travel." "It may, perhaps, be dona without roads or horses," said the chief and then, after a pause : " Will you give a pair of sailor trousers for every hundredweight that is brought over?" Yes he would do it cheerfully, as the trousers would be obtained from the whaler's slopchest at the moderate price of two shillings a leg. ' At the first streak of dawn the next morning a dozen strapping young Maoris were despatched to Mangomui with am order from the missionary to the captain of the whaler for four 3001b barrels of Hour and a quantity of assorted groceries, together with a pair of canvas trousers for each man. On delivery of the articles the barrels were promptly rolled into the teatree, the heads knocked in, and the contents poured into the trousers, which were converted into sacks by a strip of flax tied round the feet. When full, a similar strip was tied round the waist, and the arrangement was complete. An extra pair was filled with the assorted groceries. Shouldering the new-fashioned sacks, with the legs over their shoulders and the roomy part behind, the convoy started homewards. There was no need to hurry them, as the sooner they reached their destination the sooner they would be able to put on the coveted garments. Long before the flour-train could possibly return all the young people of the settlement were on the watch on* the top of an old deserted pa which commands a distant view of the road. At last, about 12 o'clock, a shout announced the first sight of the convoy as it appeared for a moment over the top of a hill. This was the signal for the whole body of the Maoris to run from all parts and join the watchers on the pa. The road— old Maori trackfollowed the winding and undulating crest of a leading range, and as the Maoris came along at a sling-trot, with their black heads above the bobbing legs of the white trouser-bags, the convoy looked like a huge caterpillar swarming over a piece of rou<*h bark as it rose over a high crest disappeared, and emerged again from" wooded hollow.

When the party arrived within the last half-mile the excitement rose to fever heat. The long-drawn notes of an old Maori waiata, came faintly down the breeze: "Kakawau.! Kakawau! He whau ko-o-o!" ("Swim on! Swim on! The float is in sight !"j ; while the waiting crowd flourished their mats as they replied with the proper greeting: " Haere mai! Haere mai! Haere mai te paraoa!" (" Welcome ! Welcome the flour !") ; and, as some wag cried, " Welcome the trousers!" the flour-train, followed by the whole crowd swept down to the settlements andi iha famine was relieved.