Casual Impressions of Colonial Life . . . and Character . . .

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIX, Issue 18, 2 November 1907, Page 27

Casual Impressions of Colonial Life . . . and Character . . .

"W" EEK followed week of arduous B A I and continuous toil. The road B/tt/ for many miles was cleared, I f chained, and grades and levels

taken. Our Sundays were spent in pig hunts and excursions about the confines of lake Rotoiti, to the hot sulphur and soda baths on its borders, and those in the bush about a mile in from Otaramarai, on the northern side of the lake. These were gorgeous times.

The study of bird and beast in their native state must aver have an infinite attraction to the student of nature’s handiwork. The clear call of the tui, the hoarse cry of the kaka, the querulous lost wail of the inquisitive and

übiquitous iveka, the soft coo-coo of the native pigeon with the frou-frou of its wings as it flits from tree to tree in search of berries. Ail of the thousand and one sounds and movements that the ever-changing bush presents combine to keep the mind from stagnation or unhealthy introspection. How many—yes, how many—go out to theif daily rvbrk and can see no quickening beauty in the

opening dawn; how many, yes how many, go from their day’s toil, and can Bee nothing of the somore glories of the closing day. The night to them means just one more period or toil ended, a little space of time snatched from the weary round of deadly iteration that must be theirs from the cradle to the grave, a brief spell of forgetfulness in the 'ieathlike slumber of exhausted vitality. To them is denied the joys of hearing song of the birds singing—who shall say unconsciously—it great Creator’s praise; to them is denied the pure light of the uncontaminated heavens with the blessed air laden with the scent of flowers, and herb and tree.

Think of it, you New Zealanders, with all your opportunities about you, when you feel prone to grumble at your lot, pause and think of the countless millions of suffering down-trodden peoples tf this earth, and for very shame be silent. Think, too, what efforts and sacrifices of your personal comfort are you making against that red day in Which you will be called upon to prove your manhood and title to year glorious birthright, when the only alternative to victory will be to be slaves and helots for ever.

> The bush is full of Kiores and the Baying, “As cunning as a Maori rat’’ is well deserved. Where we first pitched our camp, the place swarmed with them, but they never touched our flour for over a week, after that the Columbus of the K-‘. tribe, dwelling in those parts—discovcied that flour was good “kai,” and hereafter J-inch boiler plate would hardly keep them out of it—in vain we hung it up in apparently' inaccessible places; we would find at dawn a hole in the bottom, and the bag half empty; they' would cat our potatoes, and what they could not eat they would pocket, or roll away *—even the chain man’s scented soap was not sacred to them —(He, the chainman, had a harmless mania for washing himself)—and he felt it acutely; they would get in our bunks or jump heavily on top of us from points of vantage on the ridge pole, during the middle of the ■lght, and make poor Bismark's life one

long worry to him by running over him when he slept. We trapped in sell defence with poor results, they grew more aggressive, and had we not received orders to move, they would have eaten us out of camp. On one occasion we were running a line through a heavy' pocket of bush, when rain commenced to fall heavily, so we halted for a midday feed under a giant rimu, lighting a fire at its foot. The bush and wood was very wet, and the dense smoke went up the tall shaft of the rimu and hung like a cloud in the thick upper branches, enveloping it from bole to top. After the billy was boiled,

our attention was called to a rata vine, that, descending from the lower branches, came down to the top of a smaller tree fully thirty feet away. Down this.:vine in long-procession came an army of rats from their colony in the head bf the big tree. We watched them in silence—old and young, big and little—there must have been a hundred of them or more. The smoke curling up the trunk, and hanging in the branches (owing to the extreme damp and heaviness of the atmosphere), had alarmed them, and no doubt the elder rats, who knew all about bush fires, had held council and decided on flight. There was no bustle and confusion, they were as solemn as a procession of Druids, and looked quite as wise; there was an inclination amongst us to throw things of weight at them (a natural instinct, I suppose), but the chief sacd Ret them alone, they are happy enough , and do no harm to anyone, and will go back when tire smoke clears—so we did let them alone, and I, for one, am proud of it. One temptation successfully resisted.

i The weka is another interesting party. When the camp was shifted to Pongakawa, in about two nights, he, his wife, and family, had snared every' knife, fork, spoon, and billy lid, together with other unconsidered trifles (including the chainman’s soap), that was capable of annexation, weight and bulk was their only limitation. They must have suffered torments owing to their inability to remove stirrup irons a;“l suchlike awkward goods.

It may not be amiss here to revert to the subject of pork as an article of diet—that is. bush pork—the high class variety of fern-fed pig—when dead. It is quite unlike the pig of commerce in flavour and texture, being a fine, firin meat, with a distinctive nutty-cum-

spring-chicken flavour; once tasted it produces a consistent hankering for more, and leads one to despise, somewhat, the superfatted variety of pig common to the trade.

One Friday the chief announced his intention to shift camp, to a spot he

had selected some three miles further along the line, which would bring us closer in touch with our work. He then departed for headquarters (for elections were near at hand), leaving us to attack

the moving problem. Under the.chairman, we occupied ourselves in clearing and preparing our new site, getting ridge and side poles for tents, building camp fireplace, etc. We had all prepared when the chief unexpectedly returned to know who wished to record their votes at Rotorua. We all did, and without further ado we took ship at Otaramarai, and by

nightfall were safely delivered in that blissful resort of the badly-want-to-be-thrilled tourist, awaiting to record a vote in favour of a paternal Government, and the patron saint of all survey parties.

Eheu, alas, vac, woe is the tail end of something in a latin grammar, dimly remembered through the mists of actively eventful years. We duly violated our conscience according to self-interest, and the following day again took ship for Rotoiti, anchoring off the Ohau, and going on to Otaramarai with a smaller boat, whose mast could negotiate the bridge without unstepping. The chief had not yet arrived, but had left instructions to await his return before proceeding to shift camp. He arrived late, and avowed that the paternal government had discovered that for some considerable time (owing to an error of a clerk) it had been paying us ]/- a day too much, and he was reluctantly compelled to inform us of a reduction to normal rates at the end of

the month. As he was working us some twelve hours a day, he must have felt the injustice of this, but he was a loyal gentleman, true to his employers’ trust, and made the statement without comment or bias, supplementing it with the news that the camp would ship coastwards to a point about four miles from Pongakawa.

We held a council of war on the re

duction question, and were of unanimous opinion that the clerk who had made such convenient errors at so critical a time should ba instantly promoted. For my own part, I fancy that, he was not in need of it, and that it would be rank blasphemy to even mention his name, let alone pass commendation or censure upon him. For myself. 1 decided to remove, and after the eamp had l>een shifted to Pongakawa I came up to my own private camp, to reside amongst my good Maori friends at the head of the Ohau, where a warm welcome ever awaited me. On the way up by the main road, I encountered an aged Maori dame, ami on her back was a

huge kit of small potatoes which she was distributing at short intervals along the road. Some little distance behind her was a fine sow with some eight of her progeny following up the potato trail. She informed me she was going to her cousin, the Tohunga, at Otaramarai, who was sick, and by this simple and effective method was bringing her family after her. We stopped awhile and had a yarn—she in good Maori, and I in passable English; all that her words failed to convey to me she made intellegible by pantomime, while the old sow and her family nosed at her for more spuds. It was dark when I reached my destination, and nearly midnight before I had been told all the news by my kind friends, the Tiomatahis. The stories of the sportsmen and their doings —their goings out and their comings in —the fish that they did not catch, and the ones they might if they only would, and their versions of the salmon that they had caught in Scotland, the trout that succumbed to their prowess in Ireland, and other truthful tales—belong to another chapter of history, in which, if permitted, I will endeavour to give a. fair account of actual deeds witnessed as contracted with a “tale that is told.’.’ C.H.C.W.

At Work With a Survey Party

(Concluded.)