A NIGHT OF LONG AGO.

Otago Witness, Issue 3510, 21 June 1921, Page 57

A NIGHT OF LONG AGO.

AN OTAGO REMINISCENCE.

By

Andrew Aitken,

To-day I've been of a reminiscent frame of mind ; I have been reading the reminiseenes of the Auckland Chief tjf Police, who has lately retired from the force after 40 years’ service. The short tale T am about to tell smacks somewhat, albeit faintly, of a detective story. Of those who live in cities and are employed in the Kxchange, that is those who handle large sums of money and mu great risks, not a few could tell some experiences they may have had that would make a good yarn for a fireside recital on a winter’s night. With this adventure of mine I’ll try to relate one, of these little tales. It was about the year 1876 or'77—l was then a shepherd with Cargill and Anderson on Teviot Station. They then owned all the country from Miller's Flat to the Old Man Rock. The working population of that region, mostly comprised of miners along the Molyneux, and they got their supplies of mutton from the station or the local butchers, who visited them once a week. Even then, the butchers got their sheep from the station and the sheep were the real prime Merino, and ■when I say prime, I’m not exhausting the meaning of the word nor am I stretching the imagination of myself or anyone else, as they were really “thumpers,” or to use a still more slangy word “boskers.” There were then a few settlers about Dumbarton Rock and Moa Flat who had

a few cross-bred sheep, but the Teviot butchers solely relied on getting supplied with station sheep. I may say here that no cross-bred was allowed to live on the station. Should a stray ram from the outside world get into the flock, Ilia progeny of “spotted, speckled or ringstraked” offspring was “guillotined” at cutting and tailing time. Well, my duty every Friday was to supply tlie Teviot (as it was then called) with fat sheep, and any settler or digger who , wanted a fat. sheep left word somewhere ; (no ’phone in those days), and he would be on the lookout for me, knowing my ; hours. Then every . alternative week I ' took a move up country, also attending to | the wants of the shanty-keepers and ; diggers from Coal Creek to Spoargrass ; Flat, and sometimes on to Rancher's Gully, j In those long bygone days there were 32 ' shanties from Lawrence to Cromwell. It j io on one of these trips I wish to hang 1 my tale. I always made an early start, as often the day was hot and the work strenuous. Not many settlers had put much labour or pence on their sheep-pens. ■ These were mostly just a “kin’ o’ a knrl” : under some leaning rock that acted as a roof. On this trip I had got up to Shingle Creek; it would be about 8 o’clock and tlie road runs along the hillside in little cuttings toward the creek. ; It was customary for me to hurry along 1 this bit of the road, as the sheep were apt to run up the bank when I got to the crossing. I saw a man taking his morning hath in a kind of primitive fashion as I thought. He had only come from mine host of the nearest shanty, and was partaking of the clear mountain brook to cool the fiery libations of the previous evening. I hurried the sheep quickly past and was speeding up the other side towards McLaughlan’s—McLaughlan was then on the “put,” and was a customer of mine for six or eight sheep—when the half-clad man sang out to me “stop!” and came running after me leaving his toilet behind. I had seen some strange characters at that shanty, and often in strange moods so I took little notice of this fellow, but he persisted in calling out to me, and I heard him repeat my Christian name with Scotch accent. With that I pulled up my horse, and waited for him to come up. When he got close up 1 recognised a shipmate of mine. However, I had little time to talk, but he said he was on the look-out for me as he wa-s making for my camp. He had learned from the settlers or mine host that I would pass that way. 1 told him 1 would return that evening, but he had better “spring” a hit of tucker as I had only a limited hit of bread ; “enough for the day is the evil thereof.” Time with me has aye been a short com- j modity, and I said 1 must hurry on. but my last word to him was to wait till evening mv return. Now any person fit for the work could have done this as well as I, hut I would like to say here (and I strain a point by saying it), the shepherd of to-day lias no conception of the Merino wether 45 years ago. Tlie killing sheep j were mostly three shear or some four I shear, and the only outlet for fats was the I boiTing-down works. It took such a lot (

out of the dogs that, had it not been for the meat (that is the sheep we killed daily for dog tucker) the dogs could never have stood the strenuous work of mustering and yarding, and wherever we were wo always killed a sheep for the dogs, and there were no “scrags” on the station in those days. I had to call at the Fourteen Mile Beach, where I had two or three customers —John Nott and the two Quayle brothers—for-by a fossicker or two, also Chinamen. I i formed an impression that the Molyneux River had run at a much higher level than it does to-day, by the water-worn rocks : two chains up the bank from the present ; level where Mr N'ott had his sheep-pen. I This pen was large enough to hold eight ; or ten sheep under the eaves of rock, and j there was also small caves where the j Chinamen slept, and cooked their hit of ; tucker. | All along my route the miners were a ■ s’,iendid lot of sterling fellows, even if the exterior was a hit rough to the trained : and critical eve from the city. The meet of them paid with yellow “dink” from the 1 sluice boxes, and how accurate the amount j would tally with tlie amount owing. I took every man’s little chamois leather bag as I got it tabulated to the bank, and returned the’ empty bag with slit> my next trip. And on this hangs my tale. When I rej turned to the Coal Creek old station the setting sun was skirting the “nobbies” a''A the twilight was falling fast. My quondam friend was resting and lying aslant on his swag, but he did not notice my approach until I said, “Well! you’ve done a nice day’s sundowning ?” “Just middling,” he made the remark, “but had I had a bit tobacco it would have been just perfect, hut I’m expecting a fill from you.” “Oh! then, the day will end imperfectly, as I never use the Lady Nicotine,” at which he sighed, and knocked the ashes out of his pipe. I soon got the billy to swing and made tea. As I have already mentioned, I had not too much bread, so suggested he call on some of the miners’ wives, and I gave him a “boh” to get a quarter loaf. If he made use of my name. I knew Mrs Craig or Mrs Bennetts would supply our needs. It was not Inner till he returned with sufficient to tide us over the Sunday and more; but about the hob (ah me !) T learned afterwards he used my name on the credit system. We got talking on incidents of the 12 weeks on board the good shin “Invercargill.” and about our fellow-passengers. As it was close on two years syne, he talked and gave expression io fraternising words trying to cozen and flatter me that ! had jumped into a most responsible position in handling large sums of money and collecting same. I had told him when he had hiis eye on the hag 1 i had slung over my shoulder, it was miners’ “dink,” and being the end of the month everyone had paid up, and that my instructions were “no credit over the mouth,” in fact it was myself who gave the months’ grace. But I am opening out. this yarn too long, and the reader might lose in- . terest, so to make a long story short, we | retired about 10 o’clock or a little after, I to our separate rooms if I may call them I rooms; at least, the kitchen separated the ( two apartments. I was soon asleep, but was

awakened about midnight with someone cooeying loudly not far from the hut. The moon was about full, but a thick fog hung along the flat. 1 got up at once and proceeded to where I heard the cooeying. M bether I took the precaution to take the mollev hag or not, I am not clear on this now, out J had put it under my pillow or what i made provision for a pillow. When I got along the side of the water-race — one ran close by the back of the hut—l saw the outlines of a man and two big greyhound dogs come leaping towards me. The father (as it pro\ed to be a priest) kept calling out “Down Fida! Down Fida !” while he made a few paces backwards crossing himself and muttering some words of Latin. “Hullo!’’ I sung out, “what’s the matter?” He replied, “I’m lather Larking the parish priest of this Diocese, ancl have lost my way. I've got into the mazes of two water-races, and can’t get out.” “Well! Father,” I said, “your not far too lost yet for this world—a few chains backward will put you on your way again.” I took the good father's arm and acted the good Samaritan (barring the beast and the oil) and took him down as far as the little Methodist Church where the road was fenced on both sides. All tlie way down he was invoking the prayers of saints for me. I returned to the hut, and it was as T had left it an hour before, and I turned in again and was soon asleep (dreaming of home and of friends). Does the reader ever have the experience of these, wakerife dreams When the night’s rest lias been disturbed ; I have often seen things so vivid and real-life-like. Well I was in one of these dreams when I heard the door creak, and my mate of yestreen came in and looked round the room. Then he made a olive at my pillow ; when I sprang up demanding what was his business, he made bold to say, “I want that bag oj dust, your clothes and boots.” A stock or hunting whip was close by on the floor, and it played a part in the proceedings. Sleeping pants were not the luxury they are today, and, being scantily clad. I did not want to close with him, and having the hag in my hand and the whip in the other I gave him a hard slap on the temple that staggered him. He made a grab at the bunk when I landed him another hit on the back of the hand that paralysed him somewhat. I got out, and in passing the hearth T picked up the tomahawk and outside I drew on my pants. With that I said, “Gome on now, McDuff.” I gave two loud cooeys that brought him to his knees, at least.. I thought so, for lie came over blubbering and made pretence to cry and say how sorry lie was and what a fool lie was. but not to bring anybody there or he’d go and drown himself. You can imagine I put on a lot of picksniffing airs and told him to get up and light the slush lamp, and bring out his swag so that I might see he had no fire-arms nor implements that would take life. This he did, but his little wardrobe was scantily furnished—a few old tobacco pipes and some little tins of sugar and tea, maybe a change of linen (not too clean), and other nick-nacks belonging to the professional swagger. While this process was going on he was all the time whining like a whipped cur. My powers of expression were never great and certainly not in ink. Were Ito attempt to describe my feelings toward this ungrateful beast of a fellow-man my descriptive faculties would soon be exhausted so I'll not attempt to ray anything more, hut you can imagine how I felt. I made him go and lie down till morning, ■when I would reason with him. I may say I did not have any more sleep, and the long weary night passed slowly away. When the first streak of dawn came slowly in I had a look at him. There he was with a gurgling taking place in his throat, his big, extending mouth opc-n like a post-box. but as the promise of day was in the murky sky, I let him sleep on. He had his two legs drawn up like a joiner’s wood-horse, and seemed at peace with all the world. Soon after I heard him strike ,a match, but, whether he had any tobacco or not to burn, be rolled up his scanty swag and decamped, and like Runyan’s Pilgrimage, T saw him no more. The year following I vend in the Otago Witness that a man answering his description and the name, had been found drowned in the Mataura River below the Matanra township