A LINK WITH THE PAST.

Otago Witness, Issue 3380, 25 December 1918, Page 47

A LINK WITH THE PAST.

By F. B. Forester,

There is a quiet spot on a green hillside not far out of Taranaki's oldest town, little known save to the few, and yet having an intense and peculiar interest for the stranger. A spot of wonderful beauty, both in the near and far distance, for, far as the eye can range, stretches a rolling sweep of country, green as emerald, here swelling into smoothlyrounded ridges, there sloping down to deep gullies, at the foot of which glide fern-shaded creeks; while, further on, its bed overhung by graceful pungas and cabbage trees, is a swiftly-flowing river. Beyond all these, lying out like a ring of sapphire in the sunlight, is a stretch of deep blue sea; and away, looking northward, on a clear day such as this a glimpse may be caught of steep, scarred cliffs, rising white against the skyline. These, the stranger- learns, are the farlamed White Cliffs, notorious as the scene of the massacre of the. Re v. J. Whitely, the Gascoignes, and other settlers, in the old unhappy days of tho Maori war. But ft is not with these that the present sketch has to do—not here that the immediate interest lies. It is hard to withdraw the eye from the fair scene around us, from the giant Egmont, rearing his snow-crowned peak above the slopes of blue, misty distance clothing his flanks, and from the bush-covered ranges, which on this side sweep down in slope after slope to the blue; blue stretch of 6ea, or even from the native bush, which, still flourishing in the gorges and gullies near at hand, is a wonder in its varied tints and shades of green. All around, on the slopes lof - the upland pastures, cows are feeding; and the entire landscape is dotted with the houses of farmers, the white walls and red-painted roofs contrasting harmoniously with the hues of the sea of living green above which they rise. A scene of i peace, beauty, and prosperity, such as charms the eye and gladdens the heart, and, as contrasted with the awful ruin and devastation which must, be so sadly evident on the other side of the world, forces upon the spectator anew the conviction that this is in truth a favoured land.

• But it was not always so; and Taranaki, too, had h&r own grim days of stress and strain, as more than one old colonist could tell out of his own experience, and as the hrief episode to be related here will prove. Hear what one has to tell of almost hairbreadth escapes from the massacre which was the fate of others; or listen, with a holding of the breath, to the story, related so simply, of the despatch rider, lying low on his horse's neck while threading the dense stretches of saddle-high fern, among which lurked the hidden and unseen foe. And there is a garden yonder which can yield proof of the same truth, despite its beauty now.

A peaceful, lovely garden it is, set on the slope of the hill through which the road has been cut, its green banks shaded by magnificent pungas, spreading their giant fronds over croquet lawn and flowerbeds below, and sheltered from the sea breeze that rushes strongly inland by a close-set hedge of grass, • lifting creamy feathered heads above clumps of greyish green. Down the shady path yonder, almost to the foot of the gully on the sides of which the garden has been planted; and here, almost hidden among the luxuriant growth of shrubs, you will come upon a piece : of ground enclosed within iron railings, singularly resembling a grave. Dark and green these iron railings stand, as they have stood for_ many a year now, incongruous objects in the midst of this fair scene of peace and beauty, and so" suggestive are they that, unconsciously, the thoughts go to far-off Eastern lands, with their garden tombs. And yet this place is not a grave.

What is it, then, this quiet, secluded spot? To answer this question it is necessary to go well-nigh 50 years ago, when these 6ame green slopes, in place of blossoming with flower and shrub and tree, were merely grass-grown stretches, flanked by dense bush, and here and there hidden beneath dense growths of fern. And in those days there was neither peace nor safety for the dwellers outside the guarded town's; and those settlers who remained on their farms, or ventured outside the defended walls, did so at their own risk, and took their lives into their own hands. One of these, so- runs the story, was the then owner of the pastures upon which this garden stands now. He did not lack warnings; but, confident in his belief that he at least stood in no danger from the rebel Natives, ho insisted on riding out from time to time to see after the stock he had. grazing in the pastures there, and rode at last to his death. If a man can be said to be fated, surely it was he that day, for, in place of riding the 6wiffc and powerful horse that could have saved him at a tight corner, he chose to mount an inferior animal, and on entering the paddock he, contrary to his usual custom, the gate behind him. What followed is one short confused story, reading like a page-from the hip : tory of Indian warfare, or from the annate of the past. The slow, stealthy advance of the hidden watchers, ambushed in the fern, the sudden attack, the vain attempt at flight, and then the despairin-sr knowledge that bv his own rash action he had shut himself from "safety, and that the horse he was riding. in place of his own clever hunter. *ca<? unable to clear the fence. Caught as if in a trap, the Maoris had him at their mercy. ... So one more was added

to the Ion:? list of victims, and this secluded enclosure within the iron railings, commemorates the tragedy that took place here 50 years ago. Rome say the horse fell at this spot, others that it was here the brave, if rash, rider met his death ; but. at all events, this railed-in spot is pointed out as the scene of the tragedy, and as such it pos-

eesse.s a peculiar interest for the stranger.

. The victim himself lies beneath the shadow of the old stone church in the neighbouring town, in company with many another who met death in that old sad time; but, through all the intervening years, loving hands have tended this spot, and to this day it remains, a silent witness to the stress and strife through which this fair country came at last to her own. Standing here, with the pea-ce and beauty of the lovely garden all around, the scent of flowers in the air, it is hard for the stranger to credit that so fair a spot should ever have been the scene of so grim a tragedy. And yet it is but on© among the many old memorials, and scattered up and down throughout the length and bread'h of the land, memorials which. In spite of their tragic history, one would not willingly see left to ruin and decay. Not, Heaven knows, in the spirit of foolish boasting, not to foment or foster ill-feeling between race and race, would one keep such memories green. Rather, to emphasise the happy contrast between the Then and the Now, and in somewhat the same spirit which for ever honours the brave Reua, with his immortal "Ake, ake, ake": ay, the same spirit which, away on the battlefield of far-distant Flodden, stands embodied in that monument reared beneath the shadow of the Cheviots: "To the memory of the brave men who fell on both sides."