Millie Gordon

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VI, Issue 24, 14 June 1890, Page 6

Millie Gordon

OR, THE MYSTERIOUS TELEGRAM. A TALE OF OTAGO. BY ALEXANDER STUART.

CHAPTER I. A REMARKABLE DREAM. HORTLY after the opening of a telegraph office at Clutha Ferry, Otago, in the summer of 1867-68, I received the first telegram I ever hail in my life. (We called it a telegraphic message in those days ; the word telegram had either not been invented, or was unknown to us down at the Clutha.) I have hail hundreds of telegrams and a few cablegrams since then, but the message I refer to, besides being the first, was also the strangest and most mysterious I ever received. I have the document still in my possession. Here it is, pasted on a piece of white silk with a black border —the only momenta I have of an old friend and shipmate, whose memory is still very dear to me. It is signed * William Gordon.’ Poor Willie Gordon ! What a fine, strapping, healthy, ruddyfaced, whole-hearted young fellow he was I The message shows on the face of it that it was sent from Oamani on February 20th, 1868. It was delivered .to me on the same day in the afternoon, and early next morning I was a passenger by the coach from Clutha Ferry to Dunedin. The first time I spoke to Willie Gordon, or rather the first time he spoke to me, was somewhere in the Bay of Biscay a few days before Christmas, 1863. We were then steerage passengers together on board the ship Resolute, Captain Wallace, bound from the Clyde to Port Chalmers, New Zealand. We had very rough weather in the Bay, and I was dreadfully sea sick. I was sitting on a coil of rope or a tarpaulin on the deck, feeling very miserable, when a cheery voice accosted me and asked me how I was getting on. I answered that I was progressing very badly indeed. ‘ Well,’ said the voice,’ * vou must cheer up, you know.’ I looked up if I did not cheer up, ami saw that the speaker was Willie Gordon. I knew him by name and sight, but had not spoken to him before. He sat down beside me, and tried his best to make me feel tetter, and succeeded. I had seen Willie Gordon come on board at Greenock before we sailed, accompanied by a man and woman and a young girl who I conjectured were probably his father, mother, and sister. I afterwards learned that my surmise was correct. They had come on board to bid him farewell, and they stayed with him till the ship was ready to leave the wharf. I heard Willie Gordon at the time address his sister as Annie. I noticed that she was very beautiful, or at least I thought her so. She appeared to be very fond of her brother, and shed tears at parting with him. When she left the shi p I think I was as sorry as her brother could possibly be. I had hoped, on seeing her first, that she might be a fellow passenger, but I was disappointed. I hail to wait several years ami undergo some strange and sad experiences ere Annie Gordon and myself sailed together to New Zealand at the beginning of our voyage together on the ocean of lite. From tlie day that he first spoke to me on the Bay of Biscay Willie and myself became sworn comrades and fast friends. He was twenty-one at the time and I twenty-two—-glorious period of life when (after getting better of mal de mer, of course) we seem to tread on air and are full of hope and joy and eager expectation of some great good future that we think will soon lie ours ! My new friend and myself soon made the pleasing discovery that we belonged to adjoining parishes in Perthshire, anil that our homes were not twenty miles apart. We also found that, although previous to our meeting on teard ship we were ignorant of each other s existence, yet we possessed numerous friends and acquaintances in common, anil talking over old scenes, old times, and mutual friends, helped to wile away many a weary hour on the long three months’ voyage to New Zealand. We were teth fond of reading, and as we had each a number of good books, we were able to exchange them and get through a great amount of instructive ami miscellaneous reading on the voyage. Among the books we read and discussed were the works of Burns, Byron. Scott, Carlyle, Dickens, Thackeray, Tennyson, Longfellow, Macaulay—besides biographies, travels, histories, etc. We were only two poor lads from two moorland farms in Perthshire, but we probably knew more than many of the young swells from the colleges going out in the cabin firstclass to make their fortunes in New Zealand with kid gloves on. Poor deluded beggars, what a sad awakening from their dreams of easily-acquired greatr.ess was in store for many of them! It is not my intention to describe the voyage to New Zealand twenty-six years ago. It was so very different from what it is at the present day that a description of it would no doubt be interesting and amusing, but if I ever write one I will postpone it for some future narrative. The ship Resolute arrived safely at Port Chalmers on Mandi 20th, 1864. Her passengers are now scattered all over New Zealand ; many of them are dead. One of them who came out a |Hsir steerage passenger, is now |«irtner and manager of the largest wholesale business in the colony, whose operations in New Zealand alone must amount in value to at least a million sterling every year. And he came from a Scotch moorland farm, and got all the education he

ever got in a country* parish school. I do not think the ]>arish schools in Scotland can be eesily improved on, if they are still as good as they were in my time. For two or three years after landing at Dunedin Willie Gordon and myself worked as mates in the diggings together in various places with varying success. On the whole we would have done better working on farms or stations, and we came to the conclusion at last to give up the alluring life of the gold-digger and settle down to something more reliable. Willie ultimately got employment as a stockman on Totara Station, near Oamaru, while I sometime afterwards, with the assistance of a friend, started a store at C'lutha Ferry, a small township about fifty miles to the south of Dunedin. We wrote several letters to each other between the time of our separation and the events I am about to describe, but nothing of any consequence happened until the date mentioned in the l>eginning of this narrative, when I received the following telegram :— Oamaru. February 20th. 1868. To Mr A. Stuart. Clutha Ferry. Come up to Totara Station, where your presence is urgently rerequired.—Willie Gordon. As a consequence of receiving this message, next morning saw me a passenger on Cobb and Co.’s coach from Clutha Ferry to Dunedin. It is needless to say that the message caused me considerable anxiety, if not alarm. I thought that Willie Gordon must have met with some accident of a serious nature. It must have been something out of the common, I naturally thought, which caused him to summon me such a long distance without any explanation. However, he was my friend, and it was my duty to obey the summons, and I obeyed it without delay. Had I acted otherwise, I should notlre worthy the name of friend. As the sequel will show, my presence teas urgently required by the sender of the telegram, but how he came to Know on the day he sent it that my presence would be needed is a mystery which I have not been able to understand, although I have since got an explanation of it which, however, still leaves the matter nearly as mysterious and wonderful as before.

CHAPTER 11. Many people still living in Otago and Canterbury will probably remember the summer of 1867-68, and especially the month of February in the latter year. That summer was exceedingly cold, wet, and backward generally, but the week previous to February 20th was especially marked by fearful storms of wind and rain. Before I left the Clutha I heard there had been heavy floods in the Taieri district, and from there right up north as far as Oamaru, Timaru, and even Christchurch. The day on which I started on my journey, in answer to the message I had received, was a particularly fine one. The sun shone brightly, and the road, although muddy and slippery in some places, was drying up very fast after the rain. A fine fresh breeze had sprung up, and the drive through Lovell’s Flat and the Tokoniairiro Plain was thoroughly enjoyable. In the afternoon the coach, after passing Waihola Lake, entered the Taieri Plain. Before crossing the Taieri Bridge we could see that a great part of the level plain was under water. Many of the farm houses and buildings were surrounded on all sides, and boats were seen plying here and there over the fields. The coach road, after crossing the bridge, was in several places a foot or two under water, and the driver had to go slow and feel his way carefully in case of accidents. Fortunately, we found no serious obstacles in getting through, and by and by, when we had passed Adams’ Accommodation House, the road to rise from the plain and climb the lower spurs of Saddle Hill. On our left the flooded plain lay at our feet, and we could see large fields of wheat, oats, and potatoes completely covered with water—the grain lying flat on the soil, and the flood-water flowing muddily over it. Many a poor hard-working Taeiri farmer was ruined by that disastrous storm, and never afterwards recovered from its effect. We arrived safely in Dunedin late in the afternoon, and I went to Wain’s Hotel on Manse-street, which was at that time the favourite stopping-place of country settlers when they came to town. Having secured a bedroom, I went downstairs to the dining-room and joined a large company who were sitting down to an excellent spread. Several members of the company there gathered together I could see, were, like myself, from the country, and when I entered the room they were discussing a subject which appeared to create some excitement. ‘ When did it happen ?’ one of them asked. ‘ Last night,’ was the answer. ‘ Sometime between bedtime and early this morning. Old Campbell, the manager, told me when he went to bed the creek was bank high, the rain had stopped, but it still looked very black away at the back towards the hills. The hut was about twenty yards from the creek, and nobody thought theie was any danger. The *nen were all in the hut and in bed before ten o’clock. “When Mr Campbell got up early this morning he found the hut swept away, and not a man to be seen, dead or alive.’ ‘ Most extraordinary ! ’What a fearful catastrophe !’ said another. ‘ Where did this happen 1 Tell me all about it I’ I cried rather excitedly, a sudden fear taking possession of me and depriving me of all appetite for dinner. The name of old Campbell, the manager, I may explain, was familiar to me, for that, I remember, was the name of the manager of Totara Station, and when I heard it mentioned in connection with some dreadful occurenee you may be sure my fears lest some accident had happened to my friend were now awakened with redoubled anxiety*. The narrator looked at me fixedly for a minute or so, probably wondering at my excitement, and then began as follows ‘ The sad event I was telling these gentlemen about when you entered happened last night at a place called Totara, near Oamaru. As you perhaps know, there has l>een a dreadful storm of thunder, wind, and rain raging up Oamaru way for the past week. There are now half-a-dozen large vessels which were up there loading wool ami grain lying high and dry on the beach with their backs broken, all total wrecks. Fortunately there’s been no loss of life in connection with them, as the ships were thrown up so high on the Ireach that the men were able to jump ashore. There has been a sad affair, however, at Totara Station. That station is a few miles on this side of Oamaru, by the side of a little stream or creek, which you

can jump over in most places. There were eight or nine men working on the station, and the hut they lived in was on a flat piece of ground near the creek, the manager'shouse is behind that again, on a higher part of the estate. When he went to bed last night the creek was full to the banks, but did not overflow on the flat ground where the men’s hut was built. The men are supposed to have gone to bed at the usual hour last night. When Mr Campbell got up this morning he found the hut hail been swept away during the night, and it is considered a dead certainty that they are all drowned. The strangest part of the affair is that the creek was no bigger this morning than it was last night; but you could see that it had risen tremendously some time in the night, and must have swept down the valley at least twenty feet deep and as wide as a river.’ ‘ And do you think all the men were drowned !’ I asked, taking out my telegram and looking at it with great anxiety. ‘ Well, all I can tell you,’ he said, ‘is this. I saw Mr Campbell at Otepopo this morning, and he told me about it, and he said some of the bodies had been found. When I saw him he was in a state of great excitement, and had notime to enter into particulars.’ * Did he tell you any of the names of those who weredrowned ?’ I asked. * Well, I dare »ay he did, now that you mention it, but I did not know any of them, and I don't recollect who they were. ’ ‘ I have a friend working on that station,’ I said. ‘ His* name is Gordon.’ ‘ Thtt’s one of the names Mr Campbell mentioned to me,’ said the traveller. ‘ I remember now distinctly that Gordon was one of the names. ’ This information distressed and shocked me terribly. The food I was trying to eat stuck in my throat, and I had to rise from the table and go outside to think over what I had heard.

CHAPTER 111. There was no evening paper published in Dunedin at the timeI refer to, or if there was I did not know of its existence. I knew the office of the Otago Daily Times, however, in Princes-street, and thither I went in search of fresh information about the Totara disaster. I found the office open, and a crowd of people standing about the pavement, some of them with slips of paper which they were reading. I entered the office and saw a few extras on the counter, and took oneup and began reading it. The account of the occurrence at Totara, published as an extra, was substantially the same as I had heard from the traveller at the hotel. The news was telegraphed from Oamaru, and was very brief, but to me at least it was terribly distressing. The names of eight men who were supposed to be drowned were given, and amongst them was that of William Gordon. It also gave the names of those whose bodies had been recovered, but his name was not among them. On inquiry at the office I ascertained that no farther particulars had been received. I went back to the hotel very sad and sick at heart, with my worst fears confirmed. After what I heard from the traveller at the dinner table and read for myself in the Times extra, I scarcely dared to hope that some mistake had been made, and that instead of being drowned my friend was really alive and waiting for my coming. The telegram certainly showed that he had been in Oamaru the day before the catastrophe, and this fact in consideration raised my spirits considerably, and gave me at last a slender hope that he had not gone back toTotara that night, and had escaped the disaster. If that was so, he must have wanted me in Oamaru for some urgent purpose unknown to me. At the same time in this supposition it was very strange that his name should appear on the list of those who were lost, as he must have heard of the affair very early that morning in Oamaru, and would naturally have hurried back to the station to seewhat had happened to his late companions. If he had done so he would have been one of the first to give information concerning those who slept in the hut that night, and this* consideration made it all the more difficult for me to understand howihismame could have been included with those of the victims. Again I thought, if he was really drowned in such a sudden and extraordinary manner, how passing strange that he should have sent me an urgent message the day before the sad event, asking me to come and see him. I was brooding over this matter in the commercial room when I heard a coach drive to the door. I looked out, and saw that it was the Oamaru coach, an hour behind time. I went outside and saw a man coming off the coach whose face was familiar to me. As soon as I saw him properly I knew him to be the late Mr Reid, of the since then extensively-known firm of Reid and Gray. At that time he was in business at Oamaru. About a year previously Willie Gordon and I had passed through that town on horseback on our way back from the Hokitika diggings. We had walked overland to Christchurch, where we bought a couple of horses and saddles for the rest of our journey. When we came to Oamaru we stopped a day or two to' look about us, and while there we had our horses shod at Mr Reid’s. We had several times* visited his place afterwards to have a chat with him about our affairs, and this eventually led to Willie Gordon getting employment on Totara Station. As soon as I saw Mr Reid and recollected who he was, I rushed up to him and said : ‘ Mr Reid, I am glad to see you. You remember me, don't you ?’ ‘ I do,’ he said. ‘ I remember you well. I was thinking about you to-day coming down in the coach. You have heard the bad news, I can see.’ ‘Yes,’ I said; • I heard there was a fearful affair happened at Totara, but I do not know the particulars. \ ou remember my old mate Gordon, who was with me last year. Is it true tfiat he is drowned ‘ I’m afraid it’s too true,’ said Mr Reid. ‘ When we came through his body had not been found, but there can be nodoubt he was lost with the others.’ * Well,’ I said, ‘ I cannot understand it. I got an urgent message by telegraph from him yesterday asking me tocome up. He must have l»een then in Oamaru, and I was beginning to hope he had not gone l ack to the station last night.’ ‘ I saw him in Oamaru yesterday,’ said Mr Reid, ‘ about* dinner-time, but I did not speak to him. I saw him go into the )>ank, and after that into the telegraph office. In the

.afternoon I had occasion to go down the Dunedin road a few miles on business, and when coming back I met him and another man on horseback going towards Totara. They were riding fast, and only said 1 Good evening' in passing, but it was getting on towards dusk, and I think there is no doubt but what he was there last night with the others. I heard his name mentioned by several people as being one of the victims, and I fear you will find it is too true.’ From further conversation with Mr Reid I learned that the day previous to the terrible event was the first one of ordinary good weather they had hail in Oamaru for a fortnight. The forenoon was showery, but it cleared up in the afternoon. There were very black storm clouds, however, among the mountains behind Totara, and Mr Reid said he could hear the thunder growling and rumbling among the hills all the afternoon. His theory of the cause of the catastrophe was that an enormous waterspout had burst on the hills during the night, and that the creek came down in a wall of water so suddenly that there was no time for escape. It was either that which caused it, he said, or else a slip among the hills during the wet weather which dammed up the creek for some time until a large lake had been formed, which must have burst its banks and rushed ■down the valley, carrying everything before it. My interview with Mr Reid dispelled any hope I had formed of my friend’s safety. After parting with him I went into Cobb and Co.’s booking-office and secured a box seat on the Oamaru coach for next morning. CHAPTER IV. I lay wide awake for a long time during the night, tossing .and turning on my bed. 1 went over in my mind all the pleasant time Gordon and myself had spent together on board ship, at the diggings in Otago, and on the West Coast. I thought of him as he was then, always cheerful, light-hearted, and merry, a helpful mate, an agreeable companion, and a true friend. Thinking of these thoughts, I could scarcely believe it possible that he whom I loved so well could be lying at that very time cold and lifeless at the bottom of some deep water-hole in the Totara Creek. During the time we had been together he was frequently getting letters from his sister in Scotland, telling all about his fattier and mother and their little farm on the banks of the Tay. The farm, it seems, was a very poor one, the rent was high, but the family had lived on it for generations, and it was for the purpose of making money at the diggings to enable them either to buy it altogether and be rent free, •or else look out for an opening at the Antipodes, that Willie Gordon left'his home to seek his fortune in New Zealand. It was agreed between Willie and myself that as soon as we made our pile we were to go home together, and I was to marry his sister, that is to say, of course, if she was still disengaged and would accept me. Although I had never spoken a word to his relations at Home, and only saw them once, as already related, yet, from the many letters I had seen or had read to me, I seemed now to know them intimately, and as I tossed and turned on my bed I thought of the sorrow that was in store for these loving hearts, if all I feared was true, when the news reached them some three months from that time. While I was busy thinking of these things I at last fell asleep. That night I dreamed a very strange dream, which I can never forget. During the time that Gordon and myself worked together we had, like all other diggers, the great hope and expectation always before our eyes of making -our fortunes, or as we called it, ‘ our pile. ’ We often talked of this, and joked about it in our own way; but although we had a certain amount of success in one or two of our ventures, yet we never were able to save much money up to the time of our separation. This was more disheartening to my companion than to me, as he wanted to send some assistance to his people at Home. It was the necessity for saving a little hard cash which induced him at last to take a steady billet on a station and give up the more pleasant life of gold-digging for a time, as we then intended. Yes, we frequently talked and joked about ‘ making our pile,’ as who does not in the colonies ? Since I parted with him the tide of my own fortune had turned in my favour, and I was at last in a fair way of doing well. During our -sojourn together we of course always addressed each other in a most familiar way. He was Willie to me and I was Sandy to him. As I said, I dreamed a strange dream that night. I dreamed that a voice which I knew well called out to me in a very sad tone, and from what seemed to be a very far-off place, ‘ Sandy ! Sandy !’ In my dream I knew I was asleep, and the voice seemed to wake me up, but I only dreamed that I woke up. I knew the voice to be Willie’s, but oh, how strange and sad ■and far away it seemed to be ! ‘ls that you, Willie ’’ I cried. ‘ Where are you ?’ ‘ Here I am. Look up, look up!’ was the reply. The voice had now a joyous tone. I looked up. I knew, or dreamed I knew, that I was lying on my bed, and then it seemed as if the roof had •opened and I saw Willie Gordon standing far away and very high up, surrounded with a shining light which was far too bright for my eyes to look at. His appearance, and the great distance between us and the bright light in which he ■stood, terrified me very much, and I cried out : ‘Oh, Willie! What is the matter? Where are you going ’’ He answered, ‘ I have made my pile at last. It is all right. lam going to my long home. Good-bye.’ The vision fled. I dreamed that I was sobbing and moaning in my sleep, but I did not awake. I slept on, and another vision soon presented itself. I thought I saw a large pool of water, and that I was searching eagerly for something I expected to find, and I said to myself, ‘ I nave found it.’ I thought I stood on one side of the pool where there was a flat piece of ground, the bank being only aliout a foot above the water. Opposite where I stood there was the end of a ridge, from which a rocky point protruded over the pool. Above the rocky point stood a cabbage tree, its speairy leaves quivering ami rustling in the breeze. I looked into the pool of water and deep down, dimly at first, but as I looked, gradually growing clearer and more ■ distinct, I saw Willie Gordon’s dead face upturned with eyes wide open looking steadily at me. I woke up with a cry and a start. I knew that it was a dream, but I also knew that the dream was true; that I had seen poor M illie Gordon in the spirit, and that I hail also •seen his mortal remains lying cold and lifeless at the bottom

of Totara Creek, where I knew before many hours had passed over my head I was surely destined to find him. CHAPTER V. IN the afternoon of next day I was at Totara Station. When I arrived an inquest was being held. The coroner and jury were in the manager’s house, and a numlier of settlers ami station jieople were gathered outside talking of what had happened. One of these men 1 knew to lie Mr Dunean, who is now, I believe, member of Parliament for that part of the country. I asked this gentleman if all the Isxlies had lieen recovered. ‘ They have all been found,’ he said, ‘ except that of one young fellow of the name of Gordon. He is still missing.’ * Have they given up the search ?’ I asked. ‘ No,’he replied, ‘there aie still several men down the creek side on the look-out, but I do not think they will find anything more to-day. The creek is still muddy, and if he is in a deep hole he will not be easily seen. The drag they have is not a very good one. ’ ‘ Where were the other Itodies found ?’ I asked. ‘ Well, they were in different places,’ he said. ‘ Some of them not very far from the hut, and others a good way down the valley ; some in the water, and some on dry land. The hut, which was built of sods, must have fallen on them and smothered them first of all, and then it was swept clean away, and the sods are lying scattered all down the flat as far as you can see. There’s where the hut stood. ’ He pointed to a place a few hundred yards below, and I saw a square mark on the ground where the hut had been, and pieces of turf scattered here and there down the valley. ‘Do you know a place down the creek side,’ I asked, ‘ where there is a rocky point overhanging a pool of water, and a cabbage tree growing above the point ?’ ‘ I do,’ Ire replied. ‘ I can see you have been there yourself. I was down that way to day and searched all about. We got the last man found in a water-hole, but that was a good bit on this side of the place you mean. I can see the place from here, and I see the men down that way now. If you look you can see them from here. ’ He pointed down the valley about two miles, and I could see the men like little black spots moving about. I thought I could also see the cabbage tree. ‘ Have they anything to drag the water with ?’ I inquired. ‘ Yes, they have, and I believe they have been dragging all day.’ ‘ Well,’ I said, ‘ Mr Duncan, if you come with me I think I can find the body. ’ He assented willingly, but I could see, as we walked hastily together, that he was somewhat sceptical about my ability to find it. When I told him about my dream, however, his doubts vanished, and he was as eager as I was myself to get there and put my dream to the test. As we walked along we could trace the course of the Hood by the debris of sticks, grass, and scrub left on the bank at its highest mark. It was very evident that a terrific body of water had rushed down from the mountains, and as the valley has a pretty quick fall to the sea, the water must have come down with tremendous force and velocity 7. In reply to a question on the subject, Mr Duncan said he had no doubt the flood was caused by a landslip in the hills damming back the water. As yet, however, no one hail gone up the creek to ascertain, but the question would probably be set at rest in a day or two. When we were within a short distance of the place we were making for we met four men coming back, one of them carrying a drag. Mr Duncan stopped them, and we explained the reason I had for thinking 1 could find the remains, and they willingly turned back with us to see the result. I need not say that I was greatly agitated on nearing the spot I had so strangely 7 seen in my dream. I recognised it when a good way off, and then hurried on as fast as my agitation would permit, until at last I stood breathless with beating heart on the bank of the creek. There, at my feet, was the deep pool, there on the other side was the rocky point, and above it the old cabbage tree with its long spearry leaves rustling anil quivering weirdly in the evening breeze, all as I had seen them in my 7 dream. I gazed into the water at my feet, but at first saw nothing. I looked again, however, peering keenly 7 into the deep and dark pool, and then I seemed to feel rather than see the object of my search. ‘ I have found it,’ I said in my dream. ‘ I have found it,’ I said again, this time wide awake, turning to those who were with me. I looked once more to point out the spot, and there, as plainly as possible, I saw my ]>oor friend's dead face, with eyes wide open staring at me from the bottom of the creek. Although my agitation was great, I would not let anyone touch him but myself. I took the drag from the man who carried it, fearing he might use it too roughly. Slowly anil tenderly I touched the body with the hook and raised it to the surface as carefully as if it were made of glass. The men lent a hand and lifted it out of the water on the bank. There was very little clothing on it when taken out of the water. The other men, I was told, were all found in the same state, some of them with a blanket or some article of clothing clasped in their hands, showing that they had no time to dress, or indeed perhaps to wake properly up. When we took Gordon’s body from the water the right hand was holding an article of clothing. I released it gently from the clenched hand, and saw that it was a man’s coat. I put my hand in a breast pocket and found it contained a pocket-book. The men who were with Mr Duncan and myself made a stretcher with some rails from a broken fence, and placing the body on it, we started back to the station. We got baek fortunately before the coroner and jury had left. The inquest on the other bodies had resulted in a verdict of • Found drowned.’ A second inquest being necessary, and the jury having viewed the body, we entered the manager’s house, and the proceedings commenced. I was one of the principal witnesses. CHAPTER VI. After lieing put on my oath in the usual way, I was told by the coroner to state what I knew of the matter under consideration. I told the jury about the mysterious telegram I

hail receiver!, which I produced and read, and also alsmt my strange dream in Dunedin, which enabled me without any difficulty to find the body after the search hail lieen given up by the other men. I related all 1 knew alsmt the antecedents of the deceased, and my own connection with him since our arrival in tie colony. I then produced the coat found with the Issly and the iHM’ket-lsmk which I found in the coat. Air Campbell, the manager of the station, identified the coat as the one which deceased was wearing on the day preceding the disaster. I was instructed by the coroner to <>|en the poeket-lssik and show the jury its contents. I found the lsM>k difficult to open, as the leather was swollen with the wet, and the elastic lound it was as tight as if it were an iron band. There was very little in it, only a few shillings in silver and a letter and some documents which, although damp and wet at the edges, were still apparently in a readable condition. The swollen leather and tight band had. no doubt, pteserved them by keeping the water out. The coroner asked me to read the letter. Die address and date at the top were not legible, but I saw from the signature that it came from his sister. I have the letter still in my possession carefully preserved. It reads as follows My Dear Willie. —I wrote this to let you know that we are all well at present, honing this will find you the same. We received a letter from you (the one you wrote on July 20thi a few days ago. and although I sent you all the news when I wrote you last, yet I think it only right to let you know that we got your letter and how glad we were to hear you are well and doing well. Besides, 1 am sorry to say, and 1 think you ought to know of it. that father has fallen behind with his rent, and the Duke's factor has been hereabout it. and making things very unpleasant for poor father. I think it is about £SO lie is owing. Father says as the lease is nearly out and the rent is too high be would like us to go to NewZealand. Mother says the same. They are tired of inlying all they make to the Duke, and would like a farm of their own: but we must pay the rent to prevent them taking all we have, or else we would be ruined. If you can assist father I am sure you will do it. Tommy and Robert have left school, and are now working on the farm. We were glad to hear your friend Mr S. is now getting on so well after all your hardships together.—With love from all. your affectionate sister, Annie. After reading the letter I was asked by the coroner if there was anytliing else, and I then opened the other papers which were folded in an envelope without any address, and showed him what they were —a bank draft in triplicate issued at Oamaru by the Bank of New Zealand drawn on the Bank of Scotland, and payable to the order of Thomas Gordon. I informed the coroner and jury that the name on the draft was that of my late friend’s father, and I had no doubt it was his intention to send the money Home in answer to the letter I had just read. In reply to inquiries made by the coroner it transpired that I was the only person present who knew where the deceased had come from. The manager, Mr Campbell, explained with regard to the draft that the young man asked him to settle up with him the day before his death, as he wished to send some money Home. He accordingly paid him what was due, and Willie then obtained leave to go to Oamaru, where he could get a bank order to send to his friends, but he (Mr Campbell) did not know where they lived. The coroner remarked that whatever may have been the intention of the deceased in telegraphing to me, it was certainly most providential that he had done so, as my presence would enable his friends to obtain the remittance intended for them without delay. He then authorised me to take charge of the draft, and send it Home with a full account of the circumstances under which it came into my possession. This I promised to do, and the proceedings terminated with a verdict similar to that already arrived at in the inquiry on the other bodies. Two days afterwards the funeral, which was largely attended by settlers and people from Oamaru, took place. The bodies were buried in one grave, side by side, in the local cemetery. After the funeral I wrote a full account of Willie Gordon’s death to his parents, enclosing the first of the triplicate bills of exchange, retaining the other two, which I afterwards sent by succeeding mails. About six months afterwards I received a brief and mournful acknowledgment of my letter, with the thanks of my friends for what I had done. Within a year of the events narrated above my business enabled me to pay a visit to my native land, after an absence of several years. On reaching Scotland, after seeing my own relations. Host no timein visiting the farm of Mr Gordon, near Pitlochrie, on the banks of the Tay. The meeting with Mr and Mrs Gordon I need scarcely say was affecting in the extreme. In spite of their bereavement Mr and Mrs Gori lon were still strong and vigorous, being Isith in the prime of life. Their daughter Annie, with whom, I may confess, I fell in love at first sight at Greenock, was now a fullgrown and beautiful young lady, lovelier, I thought, notwithstanding the sorrow visible on her face, than she was when I first saw her. The two younger sons of the Gordons were now grown into a couple of strong and strapping young fellows, the verysftrt, 1 thought, to make their way in New Zealand if they could only get over the prejudice against it, which was, no doubt, inseparable from a recollection of their brother’s untimely end. Before leaving the Oamaru district I had satisfied myself that the accident through which Willie Gordon had lost his life was due to a landslip, as was generally supposed at the time. About ten miles up among the mountains I found the flace, and saw that a great body of water had lieen dammed lack until it eventually burst its barriers and rushed down the valley, bringing destruction in its path. I had explained this in my letters home at the time. I did not, however, mention the mysterious telegram in any of my letters, nor my strange dream in Dunedin. I thought, however, there would be no harm in telling them now. I had always felt so mystified on the subject of the telegram, which puzzled me more than the dream, that 1 wanted to know what his own nearest and dearest relations would think of it. As soon as I related the circumstance and my own inability to understand it, I noticed Mr and Mrs Guidon look at each other in a peculiar wav. ‘lt was second sight,' said Mrs Gordon; ‘my mother had it. She could sec things that were to happen, sometimes clearly, sometimes darkly : and when in that state she would do and say strange things which she knew nothing alsiut afterwards as if she had lieen in a tiance or waking sleep. I am sure that was the way with poor Willie. He must have foreseen that something terrible was to hapjten to him, although he might not know what it was to lie. 1

ar-, «nre when he sent yva the message he was aimseh, i." 4 did n- t know what’ he wv f-xng. -t he weald not have seas it. He wv guided by a higher Power than his own in doing what he did.’ •There can he do doabc aboat that.' -aid Mr Gordon sdemaly. ’Y*x will understand how important the ?■ v.«x received was to us. when I sell you that on the ’. lv we g*>c yoar letter and the bank draft for £SO. the T hk- - Agent was here t»» take possession of al! we had in the world. and if we had n*x received it on that very day we would have been sold oat of boose a&i Imhbb. P»»r Willie live*! ;u*t long e&-ogh to save us from poverty and I staved f?r a few -Lay* with the <»oedo® family. and the r --re I saw of them the more I wx-* pleased with their r leasans way* an-', charmed with the 'gentle and endearing .iL*'*eitb:-n and graces of my host's <nJy daughter Annie. When I left there as last to attend so some business in L* nd -a I promised to come back in a few week* after. •_»n ii-img Annie gccd-bye I eoold see a tear gathering in her eye. but it was a tear of y -y lighted up with the rainbow of sweet i<<e. CHAPTER VIE I eave not much more to teil. althoagh the htlle scat follow* concerns the happiest. and. so me. moss interesting. period of my life. A* may be readily imagined. assooa as'my business permitted I w.-jus bark again in the vicinity ef I*itl:*rhrie. and a frecuent visitor at Mr Gordon * house. Shakespeare say* ' that she c»xirse of true love never did sm<*.‘th.' bat I sap-pose my ease most have been the exception which proves' she rule. I was staying at a hotel at Pitl- ehrie. about a mile from the farm. and I used to make pretence ?f ashing in the river. I passe IMr «Jordon * h-xi.se several times a <av. and -,-u going and coming I al way* b.oked in foe a chat, and often when I ben I askei the old rev tie if Vr r’> might CT?m.e up- the river dde for a waA with me. a rec test which was always- granted with apparent measure. Arter a bit I dispensed with she ashing-rod. and baskets. as I found they were sometimes tn the way. and ;ts I sad never caught any ash bigger than my Little huger. I had a gocd excuse fo-r giving up she 'gentle craft. This is not a love- story, so I need not tell any oar loye secrets. Suf&eient say that when. 1 asked Annie Gordcxi tor her band and she »»-usense'i to be mine. I foun<i that mv eottise of true love had been sni*3»X»hed over f‘>r melon • r-efere my appeaiaace on the scene. P*?or Wilde Gordon had fre»iuentiy written about me to his sister, and. f<>rtunately for me._ kept u~ ar interest on my behalf which had been *umeieutly st-,: - - so. kseu her hkncy free till the time of oar meeting and Lntr’xiueti’Xi- cm my hrst visit to the farm Mr G<-?rdon an-i mvself had tidked over the future p-nxsperts- of the ram or ' The Lease of their harm expired as the M-artinma.* foEdwi’-f ~. .-an*! t*> the rise m rents all nxmd. Mr *r- '-ri'jc. ana bis wife decid*oi not so •compete ”>r a renewaL Thev were th ■rvaghly --ii.sgu.stei with the •■romuet of she v ..-H-g Ehike. who. was evicting tenants, whose foreiathers had been <n the estate for htsadreds of years, wisiaxst she lea-?~ scrupie c-r cc-mpunctiom many them r-d r-g to pass the rest of their hives, in their * L : age. in p»?versv and want, after expen-img all the strength an- i• wess •: f their y: nth and man ho* -d in working ham. early ano late.’’.- raise from the inferior an«i stab-born soil the ueavy saxes for which they were rack-rested so greevoosly. I was able :•:■ give Mr to.-rdou such a g*-od acco-unt of tee •??-c.«iisr:n of the h.-nep? classes in New Zealand, and the opportunities ►; uere<i ~ ‘'er' ace airmg g - .■•?•'_ ramm t‘?r Little n_*?re than *.ce vear s rental ot she t*»r L;md in the Higniand*. that c.e feis * erv mu*.*ii to .eave rb2oti.ar»i wym Uis ’-am t.y soon as nis lease expired. By the time I came so make a proposal to Mr and Mrs G’'rdou f'?r the hand of their daughter matters were so far .agre*oi ’etween us that, in v 7 r.g their consent wish many blessing* an«i kind they knew that they were n«?-t so be seuararei from tneir ehii’i. but that we sn-.’-ald all Leave >»:•.?tland after the wedding and besxue- t'eL>»>w no she ocfeer en»i of she w.?rid. My ti-ii so S.->cLska»i nook p£a«?e le. the summer of I 86&. <»n. xhe Ls<h of September fen-j-winx I marrie»i no Az.nfe • ror-ion.. an»i shas woe of she •ireams of my life for several years past was at When the winter *n«>we cf shat year were white ‘-.’-n S:hiehalEc-el the ».r-?riou. fir l by. my wife and myself, were sikilmg tarxigh the tmxdcs in the ship City oi IXcnedin. bs.-onc i. ? New Zealand, which we reaehei in safety after a protspenxas voyage. Mr ir’-.-nlm seewed a suitable farm within a frw miles of what is U’jw the beautiful city ->f ♦.•amaru. In lite, wren I * sA.rsaru coexisted c-f a few w-?.?-»ien cc-ctages and galvaaised ir.-n stores, ami one cr two small hotel*, while the seashore was covered with the wreck* -?-f six -?r seven vessels washed A* so* a as I g-t'the family .settled in their new home I k mv wife- and her father, mother, and tw-? brothers t»> Wn .e < r<-rd<-n's grave—that grave which his remains o'k'utLeo in-s?mmeu. with the '.’-ther victims of the Totara Creek disaster. A beautiful mc'-uument ->f *toee n-'W marks the sp«:-t in memc-ry of Willie and those wh»:» were with bran- when *u-i-ien -Leath overtook them. Mr »r- -rl .n afterwards br-ogiit a piece of griun-i ai’c-ining this mn>:a grave, s*.- that, in his own woris. his old bones an-i th- -f the mother m?gh t be laid resile thcee <-f their beloved sor e Twenty years have since bat the old couple are still hair- and hearty. Tneir two m -u.*. •>:-r»i- u Bnxhet*. as they are knc'«m. have long ago taken their place among the f-rem-'t't agri-mlturists of the ilszrict. At every agricaltural show, from Invercargill to •?hristchaf:h. y- a can see their n.ames everv year hea»img the principal prize-list.*. F.-r myself an-i mv dear wife it is sn»?ugh to say that the blessings cf a happy norne have been during the past twenty years ar greatest fortune.

The last thing tn ••-hie notepAper is the ’cork. Envelopes ar, t paper are ma*ie hideous ’ y resembling cork a* ckeelv as p'wtstble. People with, the best taste, however, seli-xn charge their style, using always oae particular kind of paper taking care that this shall be as perfect as they can nave is . *> tnat az Last it beoxn.es part and parcel of their infiivviaalisy.