A BOY IN THE BACKBLOCKS

Otago Witness, Issue 3854, 24 January 1928, Page 9

A BOY IN THE BACKBLOCKS

STORY OF A YOUTHFUL PIONEER IN THE ’SIXTIES. Recorded by H. Beattie. (Special for the Otago Witness.) IV. Although Captain Howell had been a seafaring man, he had a certain natural shrewdness which stood him in good stead in his - landholding ventures. One of the old hands describes him as a “ knowing old bird.” He instructed the men when riding over certain portions of the run to carry a bag of sorrel seed before them, and distribute it out on the shale slopes, where it might eventually provide feed for sheep. He is credited with having made plenty of money in his time, but after his death the family riches took unto themselves wings, as they too often have a habit of doing in the uncertain financial history of this world. The captain, some years later than the period under consideration (the mid-’sixties), sold his Fairlight run at a good price to Frank Fielding, a butcher who had made money at the Nokomai diggings, and he retired to Eastbourne Park, at Flint’s Bush. The boy, having put in the summer at Fairlight, left to return to Riverton, and here he went harvesting for a farmer named Calder. The farmer went first, cutting the crop with a seythe, the boy following, making bands and gathering sheaves, and the farmer’s wife tied them. It was “ cruel, back-breaking work,” and when Morgan Price, who was a brother-in-law of Calder, appeared and offered him ’a job at Five Rivers he accepted it with alacrity. , Boys were very scarce then, and Job Coulam, at the Nokomai, offered him a good job, but the wide spaces had gripped him and' the life at an hotel did not appeal to him. His job at Price’s was to tend to the cows, and hard work he found it. Morgan Price was a Welshman who could neither read nor write, but native ability and force of character made him write his name large on the history of the Five Rivers Plain, and he died a wealthy man. He had got a start when Rogers, of Glenquoich, gave him some, cows to rear the calves. The cows were milked, but the calves were also allowed to suckle them to keep them from getting .too wild. The owner of Glenquoich •»and Morgan would occasionally have a hot, wordy battle, but they remained good friends for all that. Morgan had gone in for cropping, and harvesting was proceeding when the boy came on the scene. One day an oat husk stuck in the boy’s gullet, and his boss sent him to Rogers, who examined the throat and said it was very bad. He further said that Price should take the sufferer to Queenstown to “have his throat cut” to get the obstruction out. But Price was too busy harvesting, so the boy, who had. eaten nothing for two days, went and lav down in the woolshed and fell asleep. He felt niuch better for this nap, r And it was evidently Nature’s sweet restorer to him, for the big swelling had festered, and this now burst, and so he got relief for throat and mind both. One of the men working at Price’s was William F. Boyer, and between him and the boy there sprang up a lifelong friendship, which endured to the death of the former some years ago. Boyer was a friendly and straight man, and was affectionately dubbed “ Uncle Billy,” a name which eventually became known and commanded respect from Gore to Lumsden and from Kingston to Dipton. He continued tq visit the “boy ” at irregular intervals until his death, and even when the boy had become a grandfather, continued to address him and refer to him as. “ my boy Tommy,” to the wonder and amusement of the younger fry. Uncle Billy and Morgan Price erected miles of wire fencing for the Glenquoich run, and the runholder used to test their work by jumping on each wire to see if it was strong enough to stand the strain. After a winter of chilly and gruelling work, he boy turned his face once more homewards. Arrived at Riverton, he was given the job of engine driver at Moore and Co’s, sawmill at £2 8s a week, a wage Which contrasted more than favourably with the 15s per week he had received up-country. Better still, he was near home, and was able to attend a night school and so make up some of the arrears of his education. But life wanderings were by no means over, for we find him in Orepuki in the hectic days of its wild, turbulent youth. Orepuki (like all the old hands, he calls it “ Qrropucky,” which is nearer the original Maori name—Aropaki—than is our . “ Orrypooky ”) had its gold rush, and was truly a rough place. Gambling, drinking, etc., were rampant, and it well deserved its reputation ; as “ a wicked hole." Boats could come in only with a certain wind, find would sometimes lie at Riverton five or six weeks awaiting a favourable chance. The boy saw one whaleboat manned by Maoris, with Big Ellen at the steering oar. She used this hiost expertly, and with good judgment the boat ran in on a big wave, the rowers jumping out in surf up to their waists and urging the boat up on to the beach. It was hard and exciting work, and sometimes disaster followed ill-judged efforts, whe reason the sea had to be used as

a highway for the carriage of goods was that the road overland was often an impassable quagmire through swamp and bush. The boy saw some rough life and put in some hard times round Orepuki. The scene now changes to a run up the Waiau River, where the boy was helping at shearing time. One of the shearers, Bill Chinn, was an old digger, and he determined to have a look at the country across the river. A mile or two up the river at Sunnyside Station there was a boat, but Bill was not going up for it, so he and the boy- made a mogi (raft) of koladi (flax sticks) and tied several chains’ length of stout flax to it. .The boy held the flax from the shore while Bill sat astride the mogi and shot out into the current to gain a rip that ran across* to the other side. But he got into a whirlpool and went spinning round and round it. The boy always admired his coolness in danger,' for as he came round one time he shouted out, “ You can have my horse and saddle." The boy did not get this legacy, however, for by dint of his tugging at the flax and of Bill paddling for dear life, the mogi whirled out of its danger and shot downstream. Bill eventually got out on the other side far down and did some prospecting, but he. walked all the way up to the boat in. the. evening to make a crossing somewhat less exciting and perilous than the first one. After the shearing was over Bill took up a claim, and others came and took up adjacent claims. The claim was by the river’s bank, and water was got by operating a “ spear-pump,” which poured the water into a long wooden trough. The man working the pump sat and worked a handle back and forth like a trolley on the railway. It was too hard work for the boy, so he was mostly put to washing dirt in the “ long tom ” and to removing stones. The gold was saved by cocoanut matting strips lying in the bottom of the “ long tom.” Toto, a big, strong Maori, was very good at working the pump, and also at the Native expedients of making huts from bark and at catching birds. The kakas and pigeons were rolling fat at the time, and were caught by means of a long stick with a running noose, which was dropped over the bird’s head and pulled tight.

Toto said he would catch a young wild cat and tame it, so he bailed up a snarling and spitting animal and dropped a noose over its neck and captured it, carrying it in a sugar bag to the hut. Here he hung it for hours in the wide chimney, where it was stupefied with the smoke, and, strange to say, was quite tame afterwards. . a.

The small rush proved to be a duffer, for though there was gold there, it was not in sufficient quantities to pay. A digger in the district was shot, and no trace of his assailant was ever found. Some years later Bill Chinn suffered the same fate, and no clue being found; the murderer was never traced, nor did the boy ever hear of what became of his horse and belongings. A much later rush was the one on E. C. Ellis’s run at Merivale. It was situated 14 miles from Otautau, the last two miles being through dense bush. Some of Ellis’s sheep had strayed into the bush and had become very fat. The diggers would go pig-hunting and would kill these sheep, speaking •of them to one another as “ white sows.” The fleeces were extremely long, and the culprits would burn the hides, so that no traces remained of their unlawful actions. The bush was swarming with fine kakas and pigeons, and the hungry diggers feasted on them. This rush proved to be a duffer also, and was soon abandoned.

Having experienced the ups and downs of early colonial life, seen many strange and stirring sights, and endured more than his share of boyish hardships, the boy settled down to the carpentering trade at Riverton, but even in this usually prosaic occupation he encountered some more “ colonial ” experiences. With his boss he went up to. Nightcaps to set up a water wheel , they had made to order. While not perhaps so “ over the edge ” as Orepuki, the small township of Nightcaps had the reputation of being a “ frightful drinking shop.” The front of the hotel presented a wild appearance, all the windows in both storeys being broken. These breakages, it was explained to strangers, were caused by “ biffing fellows through them.” The University students at Dunedin used to sing a capping carnival song.-in which the chorus states, “We pushed him through the window.” If they had been present at Nightcaps in the early days they would have seen this song acted in real life. ■■ i

Further, there was not a door handle left in the hotel, and respectable strangers had to barricade their room doors as well as they could. The "two carpenters shoved their beds against the door to prevent roisterers coming in and throwing them out in rough sport, and it was as well for themselves they adopted this precaution, for at nights they could feel the door heaving, and could hear appalling language from the passage. *

No one was safe from the attentions of these sportive gentry. At the dinner table one of these reckless drinkers threw his arms round the neck of a middleaged Visitor noted for his Godly life and embraced him before the whole company. There were in Nightcaps many fine physical specimens who should have lived to a green old age, but the pace was too great, and killed many strong mon. On another occasion, several carpenters went up to Round Hill to do sime wood-

woyk in connection with the gold-mining claims there. The place was a regular stronghold of Chinese, and the carpenters “ bached ” in a hut recently vacated by a. Chinaman. Tales of the doings in the Chinese quarters used to be rife through all the. west country of Southland—tales of their rival tongs or secret societies, of their feuds and knifings, of their josshouse and ancestral worship, of their industry and frugality, and of their gambling and vices. There is no doubt many of the Orientals we're the scum of the southern ports of China, and had an unenviable record; but against this we can put as a slight offset the opinion of the early Riverton doctor, who always said that from the payment point of view he much preferred the Chinese to Maoris as patients.

. The Chinese had a number of very degraded harridans living with them, and it was not safe to go among them after dark. Some mysterious disappearances were attributed to the “ heathen Chinee,” sq the carpenters profited by the warning and kept aloof from them, especially at night time. On the other hand, they had nothing but admiration for the perseverance- of the yellow man in overcoming the natural difficulties of the site and : the remarkable ingenuity they displayed in utilising the scanty water supply to the fullest advantage. After using what water they could raise by primitive but effective methods of pumping and artificial elevation, the trouble was to get any fall to get it away. This continued a difficulty right down to Colae Bay, and the waterlogged condition of the seaboard between Riverton and Orepuki was directly caused by the absence of fall. The water having soaked into the soil for centuries has left the land sour, and hence the poverty of the farms and holdings in much .of that area. Whether the white man will ultimately solve the problem of this “ poor land ” remains to be seen; but in the early days it was a “ heartbreak” and also a “pursebreak,” to many an optimistic pioneer.

And here we will take leave of our pioneer boy—not that his reminiscences of the early days have been exhausted, but for fear we might find tie patience of readers exhausted. At some future time his further recollections of the oldtime runs and runholders, of the whalers, of the Maoris, and of the southern country generally from 18G3 to 1883, may be given.