RUSSELL.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19785, 10 May 1926, Page 14

RUSSELL.

SLEEPINESS AND SWORDFISH AND SOME HISTORY. Written for the Otago Daily Times. By A. W. “ Having come as far as Auckland,” said I to Cousin Kate, “I think I should like to go on to Russell. Do you know of anyone who would come the trip with me?” “Russell!” cried Cousin Kate, enthusiastically, “I'll come with you to Russell any day of the week! I love Russell!” And so it was decided, and a week or two later, having made all our arrangemen, we set forth on our day-long journey to the sleepy little place which, as every school child ought to know, was for a brief time the capital o New Zealand, though lately it has had thrust upon it a new fame as the headquarters of the finest deep-sea fishing in the world. It is only recently that one has been able to go there by train. It used to be always by steamer, for though a railway ran southward from Qpua, at the bottom of the Bay of Islands, to Whangarei, and northwards from Auckland to somewhere past Helensville, there was a big gap in the middle which was only bridged a year or so ago, and it was strange to think that we were Journeying to the oldest settlement in New Zealand as we passed through country still obviously “in the making”—stations shiny with their first coat of paint, their yards stui thick with almost untrodden shingle, and here and there the tents and hutments of a construction camp at some point where a branch line was being run inland from the main line. To us two the trip was something in the nature of a pilgrimage, though cousin Kate, like a green-turbaned Mohammedan, had made the journey before. For we are proud to think that an ancestor of ours was the first vicar of the little old historic church there, and lived there for something like a year until the seat of Government was moved to Auckland, and the “colonial chaplain” moved with it. That is a little personal affair of our own. but to anybody who is in the least interested "in the early days of this country the place is well worth a visit, for it simply reeks of historv. As you go northwards from Opua, where the mail launch meets the train, Russell itself shows up on the right, while straight opposite it, across the long inlet which forms the harbour of Russell, are Paihia. the first properly-equipped mission station, and Waitangi, where thu treaty was signed. Somewhere away to rt e northward, just inside the --ntrance to the wide bay. is the snot where Samuel Mavaden held the first Christian service Evfvything seems to have happened firs* at tne bay, including the first murder, chat of a settler and his family by a Maori, for which a criminal was officially executed in New Zealand. Looking at Russell jow, it is difficult to imagine it as it vris in those old days a century and more ago. Then it was the rendezvous for whalers from all over the Southern Seas, and also a refuge for escaped or time-aspired convicts from Sydney. Then there were something like 40 hotels and grogshops along the water f ~ont, doing a rearing trade, in fiery liquors, and it was the resulting 1. /- lessnesa that compelled the British Government to take some steps to keep order in a colony about which It had hitherto troubled Itself not at all. So in 383 S Mr Busby was sent over from New Soaeh Wales as British Resident, with lnstn»-'<lons to keep order in the best way Is could, though he had no legal or material power to enforce It, and finally in 1840 Captain Hobson came out as the direct representative of the Government of Great Britain. In T. Lindsay Buick’s book, “The Treaty ©f Waitangi,” It is stated that the Treaty was the first diplomatic treaty ever made between England and a native race. For It is understood by the Law of Nations, he says, that it is not sufficient for any Power to claim a country merely by right of discovery. It must follow up such a form of possession by settlement and the establishment of some form of Government and this the British Government had not done, and 70 years after Cook's hoisting of the Union Jack the Maoris were still technically an independent people, and it was only when they chose to acknowledge the sovereignty of Queen Victoria that the ■ country became part of the British possessions. The book gives a graphic account of the actual signing of the Treaty on the lawn in front of Busby’s house—of the flag-adorned marquee erected for the occasion, the Governor and his staff in fJiil naval uniform, the Catholic Bishop Porapalier in his robes of office, the more modestly-clad other missionaries, the great gathering of Maoris from far and near, their fiery speeches for and against the Signing, and finally the consent of the great majority. Mr Busby’s house still stands, for they built well in those days, even in wood, and you can see it from the waterfront at Russell—a small red-brown bouse set amidst trees and green lawns Afterwards Hobson took up his residence at Kororareka, which he named Russell, after Lord John Russell, a prominent figure in early Victorian politics, but he soon realised that a more central site was necessary, and moved the seat of government to Auckland, and it was the discontent amongst the Maoris at this move that led to Heke’s War of 1544-45 and the burning of the little town. But all that was long ago, and Russell now slumbers on in the warm northern sunshine day by day. The 40 hotels have been reduced to one —one licensed one, that is, and a couple of private ones. They are all along the Strand, the main street of Russell, which runs along beside the water. Here, too, are the little shops and the inevitable picture theatre. Grassgrown streets and scattered houses, and some modern bungalows make up the rest of the town, and amongst them, back under, the hill, is the oldest church in New Zealand. though at present it doesn’t look it. for a little while ago it was, very properly, repaired and renovated, and is now resplendent in a coat of new white paint. The grey shingles—fortunately th e proposal to roof it with corrugated iron was squashed—do, however, help to give it something of an appearance of venerabihty. It is the same with the churchyard. The last time Cousin Kate was there, she said, the whole place was overgrown and neglected, and they had to search through brambles and thistles for some of the old graves. Now everything ha? been set in order almost too drastically. The grass is all shaven and shorn, and spotted with newly-planted shrubs, and the headstones are all cleaned, in some cases whitened, and relettered in black—again a very right and proper thing to do, but it makes the whole place look as if it had been set „p the day before yesterday, until you notice the dates on some of the stones. The oldest is “April 23rd, 1836,” just 90 years ago. The stone is to the memory of William Skinner, who departed this life at the age of 43. Later on in the same year was buried “Mr Christie, of Princess street, brother of the late commander of the Barque Harriett.” Quite a modern stone, though its subject goes back to very old days indeed, is that to the memory of Hannah King Lethcridg'e. who. though she died as late as April, 1907, was the first white woman born in New Zealand “Born at Oihi, Bay of Islands. January, 1316.” says the stone. Many sailors and some soldiers are amongst those hurled here, including a few from other countries is Henri Turner, from Nantucket, Mass., of the shin Mohawk, and Adolphe Travers. late of the French navy, who died in 19CC. A stone, dated 1859, is to the memory of “George R. West, American Consul” It was erected by some of hi? countrymen. The coming of many American whalers would make the presence of an American representative necessary from very early days. A tall headstone records the names of a colour-sergeant and private of marines and four seamen of H.M.S. Hazard, who fell in the defence of Kororareka in March, 1845. There were originally, I think, other names, but they must have become obliterated. Another stone records the fate of Charles Bell, commander of the Hazard, who was drowned the preceding year. There are many stones with Maori inscriptions, and close by the church, lettered in both Maon and English, is the monument erected by the Government of New Zealand to “Tamati Waka None,” chief of the Nga pnhi, who was the first to welcome the Queen's sovereignty in this country. And a great piece of natural rock, upon a granite base, marks the last resting-place of one known to all lovers and students of Maori lore and art, Augustus Hamilton. Besides the church, the only part of the old Koiovarcka that is left is the home of Bislmp PompalHer at the southefn end of the town, a quaint old house with dormer windows in the roof, still in use as a dwelling-place. It and the two churches I—tlie Catholic Church is no longer there —were all that were spared by Heke and his warriors in 1845. And on a high hill bounding the settlement on the north stands the historic flagstaff—the final one, ♦.hat is. More than once did Heke, in his efforts to destroy the ‘maaa of the

pakeha, raid and cut down the flagpole, and each time it was put up again, until the actual destruction of the whole town. Years afterwards the Maoris agreed to set up a new flagstaff by way of amends, and a splendid spar was cut and towed to the beach, whence it was carried by 400 Maoris without a stop np the rough track to the top of the hill. Even that pot burnt accidentally at the base, and fr< i it was cut the present pole, which stands firmly planted in its concrete basi overlooking the w’ bay. We did not get over to Waitangi, unfortunately, during our stay, but. we did spend an afternoon at Paihia, the old mission station, where the first printing press was set up in New Zealand, and the first ship built. The principal feature of Paihia now is the substantial little stone church, rather spoilt by an incongruous-looking metal steeple on top of the square porch tower, which was recently erected by their descendants in memory of the two Williams missionaries, afterwards bishop and archdeacon respectively. Otherwise Paihia consists of a string of houses along the shore, many of them pretty and up-to-date bungalows, summer residences of Aucklanders, for Paibia, with its beautiful sandy beaches and untouched bush at the back, makes a better family holiday place than Russell, where the waterfront is shingly and the hills have been burnt over and over again. But the best day we had was the day we went in the “ cream launch,” which goes right round the bay collecting cream from suppliers, and will take passengers for a modest fee. Right across from Russell we went and up one of the long inlets, then back along the northern coast to Te Puna, where wore pointed out to us the chimneys—all that is standing now—of the home of Hannah Letheridge, born King, whose grave I have mentioned, and a little further along we passed in sight of the stone cross that marks the spot where Marsden landed and held service on Christmas Day. 1814 It was a httle unfortunate, perhaps, that our skipper chose the time when we were cutting right across the entrance of the Bay. as that to have lunch, but we managed to survive the ordeal successfully. All round us was the almost open sea, indigo blue flecked with white Away in the distance we could see Cape Brett .in whose neighbourhood swordfish and mako lurk, and we wondered what luck was being meted out to two hotel friends of ours, who, though they had come to Russell just for the holiday, had accepted an invitation to go to Cape Brett and have a try at the swordfish. We did not go as far as that, but threaded our way in and out of numerous islands of all shapes and sizes, some of them wooded to the water’s edge, reminding me of parts of Stewart Island, but most of them cleared and rather bare, and carrying a few sheep or cattle. Every here and there a dinghy, with a creamcan or sometimes two in the bows, came out to meet us, rowed by a couple of lads or a sunburnt farmer, and once by a smiling Maori girl. At one place where our skipper had some business to transact, we were invited ashore and refreshed with tea and home-made bread and butter by cheerful housewife and her little daughtei and had the last of the peaches picked for us from the peach-grove which surrounds every farmhouse up there as inevitably as an apple orchard docs in the south. Finally, carrying 16 cream-cans, one dead pig, a bundle of sheepskins, and a petrol case full of Kahawai, caught on a lino trailed out over the stern, we made our wav round Tapeka Point back to Russell, sunburnt a deep red brick colour, but feeling almost as if w e had been round the world with Captain Cook. And we had not been long back when in came our friends’ launch with a somewhat unusual signal of success flying at the masthead, ft has become the custom recently for anv launch that makes a capture to hoist a special little flag by way of telling the world the glad news. But as this was just a scratch expedition, and the launch was not really equipped for sword-fishing up went the first thing that came handv, which happened to be about a leg and ahalf of what are generally considered very indispensable pair of garments. The secretary of the Russell Swordfish and Mako Shark Fishing Club was rather shocked at such levity, but after all. when you catch vour first swordfish you naturally feel like hoisting something, and it was a bit of luck that there was an o’d garment handv Later we saw the fish being weignefl, nearly 2501 b. and if we had liked could have watched the process of cutting off the “sword" and the tail, and, of all things, gouging out the eyes, for trophies. “It is a pity we didn’t know about this sort of thing before,” said Ito Cousin Kate, as we passed these somewhat gruesome relics drying on the balcony of our hotel; “you might at least have kept the tail of that fish you caught the other day!” For soon after we arrived we had been invited to go on a fishing expedition, or wnat was supposed to he a fishing expedition. It took 13 of use to catch five fish, and Cousin Kate was tue only lady of the party to contribute anytaing, for she managed to haul in, amid intense excitement, a very sizeable schnapper. quite big enough for our breakfast next morning. How big tha. fish has grown since Ido not know. Perhaps it is just as well she didn’t keep the tail. Certainly the swordfish business has waked Rusesll up a little bit, and brought certain amenities which were not there before so many visitors came. But no thing can disturb its even tenor very much. There are -eneraily in the season two or three launches going out in the morning and coming back at night, sometimes sue cessful, sometimes not. The steamer from Auckland comes in twice a week and occasionally •> small schooner wanders round the point. Otherwise nothing happens. There are no trams in Russell, and nu motor cars, and though 1 believe about a dozen people have the telephone I only hiard one ring once. A heavenly place! When I am dead and on my way to Cape Reinga I think I shall step off at Russell and have a good long rest before going any further. That is, >f I’m allowed! It is a mistake, .owever, to tay that no one works at Russell. Once after the steamer had come in 1 saw three men wheeling cases up from the wharf on hand barrows. I think they must have kept it up for over an hour. Certainlv they seemed rather surprised at finding themselves doing it, and quite an interested crowd gathered to watch the performance. Someone told me once that Russell was the laziest place in New Zealand, because with all those fish in the harbour the streets were littered ith salmon tins. That is a libel. There are quite a number o' school children in Russell, and with the unfailing energy of ”outh tnev make for the wharf after school hours and keep the frvingpan full at home with the help of a fishing line and a few hooks. I met a small girl of tender years coin" home one evening with a couple of nsh nearly as big as she was. which she said she had caught herself Who says nobody works in Russell? The hardest work of all. in fact, is to keep awake. Of course if vou go dashing about in launches and catchine < several hundred pounds of swordfish at a time no doubt it T eas" enqugh. but if yon do not care about that sort of thing why bother. It. is quite easy to pass the time. Just sit down anvwhere for a little while with a book and a fi'hine line in '-our hand if vou like, for the look of the thine, and presently you somehow find it is dinner time. Yes. a delicious nlnce