THE RAMBLES of the Doolans.

Southern Cross, Volume 9, Issue 3, 20 April 1901, Page 12

THE RAMBLES of the Doolans.

(By One op Them.) Good Friday broke dark and foggy, and we thought our trip to Stewart Island would have to be postponed. About nine o’clock, however, the sun displaced the vapour, and with lightened spirits we left the Bluff to the strains of the local band. We had a splendid passage over, and on landing our party held a council-of-war. Our guide, Porky, like another Mark Anthony, cried, ‘ Friends, countrymen, Doolans, lend me your ears.’ We did, with the result that, acting on bis advice, we made for Captain Hansen’s Oban House, and the gallant skipper said that as he had only 26 people in the house, he thought he could find room for a few more. We hung around the smell of roast beef issuing from the dining - room for about an hour or more, but eventually had a good tuck in, although Captain Murphy, of the City Guards, said we were like a lot of recruits waiting round the cook’s quarters first morning in camp. We afterwards strolled off towards Patterson’s Inlet, and met Ted Wright and party cooling their feet in the breakers. ‘ Splendid place these breakers to bathe in, Ted,’ yelled out Podgy. Then a drouthy kind of a voice came over the waves, saying, ‘ I wish you would give me a beaker of something to drink instead of breakers to bathe in.’ Passing on, we came across the graves of Mrs Trail’s parents (Mr and Mrs Wohlers), and saw a yard in which were the Esquimaux dogs left by the steamer Southern Cross. We arrived there in good time, for Mr Trail was about to harness the dogs to the sledge. ‘ Harnessed ! ’ said some of us. Well, if you can call tying a piece of rope to the collar, winding it two or three times round their bodies, and then tying it to the sledge, harnessed, harnessed they were. Anyhow, it answered the purpose very well, for with a ‘Hey ! ’ and a crack of the whip they set out at great speed for Mr Trail’s house. As they disappeared from sight amidst the trees, we took the overland route for the boarding-house, which was afterwards dubbed by Oorney ‘ The Manse.’ As we toiled up the hill from the Inlet, Porky suggested a rest, whereupon, all being agreeable, we sat down and enjoyed ourselves firing at a post out in the bay with a rifle Corney had brought with him with which to shoot mutton birds. Podgy beat William Tell as a firstclass shot. He fired at the said spot, which he judged to be 500 yards awav, and shot a shag which happened to be flying past at the time. While taking a short-cut in the bush we lost our way, just because we wanted to get back to see the steamer go. Porky,our guide, having ascended to the top of a tall red-pine, from which he reconnoitred the surrounding district, reported, with a BadenPowell air— ‘ Dense bush all round, and Mutton Bird, Island in the distance.’ This we afterwards found out was Bluff hill. Porky never did know much about geography, anyway. After a short discussion we decided to separate and try and find a path. Presently we heard somebody call out ‘ more pork,’ and, hurrying to the spot, we found old Jukie standing on a path which he was sure would lead ns to Half Moon Bay. He was right, for in less than three-quarters of an hour we were once more standing on the wharf saying good-bye to our friends, who were not so lucky as to have four days’ holidays. We had a great discussion as to what we were to do the following day. Jukie suggested hiring the King Fisher for a trip round the inlets. Oorney, who had a hazy idea about hunting mutton birds with a ferret, said he would prefer going to Glory. ‘ Where the dickens is Glory ?’ cried Porky, with visions of angels, etc., passing through his mind. ‘ Oh, don’t you know,’ said Oorney, with the air of one who has got something good to tell. He continued —‘ While we were waiting for dinner I went up to a j

man who was leaning against the fence and asked him- if he could inform me where the best places on the Island were to be found. “ Oh, go to the dogs! ” he exclaimed, with a twinkle in his eye, “or else to Glorv. They are the best places to visit.” On questioning further, I found ‘going to the dogs’ meant visiting the Esquimaux dogs, and ‘going to Glory’ meant a place in Patterson’s Inlet, where the mutton birds were in thousands.’ ‘Jukie’s plan is the best,’ said Porky. ‘We will get the King Fisher and go round to Horseshoe Bay.’ This settled, we adjourned to ‘ The Manse ’ for tea. Next morning we were up bright and early, everyone eager for the trip in the cutter. With a fair wind we left Half Moon Bay for Horseshoe. The hills, deeply wooded down to the water’s edge, looked lovely in the morning sun. As we flew past Sandfly Beach and Dead Man’s Bay, and so out into the Straits, it came on to blow a little more stiffly, causing the boat to careen over till the bulwarks were level with the water. A country friend that Jukie had picked up on the jetty was trying to balance the cutter by pressing with all his strength on the opposite side. ‘ But she wasn’t having any,’ as Corney said, making our country friend doubtful whether we would ever reach land again. Porky was so t’ckled with the look on his face that he called out, ‘ I say, old man, you would rather ride a double farrow plough than a boat any day.’ Something that sounded like ‘ my colonial ’ came from his tightly compressed lips. Having reached Horseshoe, we landed, and had a real old Scotch cup of tea, which Podgy said was better than four X any day in the week. After a ramble in the bush, and an exciting chase after a sheep, which Corney captured going through a fence, we set sail for ‘ The Manse.’ We retired to bed that night with one thought in common —that Stewart Island is the place for a holiday. Sunday was another such day as Saturday. After breakfast Corney and Podgy went to the little church on the hill, while those two reprobates, Porky and Jukie, set out for a morning walk through the bush for Golden Bay. When we met at dinner we compared notes, and found that although Oorney and Podgy had enjoyed the sermon very much, Jukie and Porky had had the best of it, especially when they described the walk through the bush over streams and fallen trees, past Mr Swain’s old sawmill ani out into the bay, which looked like a sheet of glass, so calma was it, with here and there a seagull flyitig before our vision. After tea we went to church, where we heard Mr Swain preach a fine little sermon, which every one seemed to enjoy. Next morning one and all were in an exceedingly grumpy mood. Someone without brains, Corney said, had put a piece of gorse in his bed, but we all thought it a huge joke till we found we had had a similar trick played on us. But we soon recovered our spirits when Jukie suggested taking a few snapshots. After a bit of rummaging he produced a camera which he guaranteed to be the best on the island. So it would have been, only he had forgotten the cap. But Podgy’s fertile brain soon got us out of that difficulty when, by the help of a broken-bladed pocket knife, he cub a lemon in half, scooped out the core, painted the inside black, and there was a cap any amateur photographer would have been proud of. It answered the purpose very well, judging from the views I have since seen. By this time the tug was sighted, so we went down to meet our friends who were coming over for the day. We encountered a lot of white-faced fellows we hardly knew, for they had had a rough passage over. But a good lunch and walk round the beach put them in order, after which we packed our bags, and with solemn looks at not being able to stay longer, thanked Captain and Mrs Hansen for their kindness, boarded the tag, and soon were homeward bound.