_THE LABOURING-MAN SETTLER._
I trust the kind reader will excuse the somewhat sudden departure from
my narrative to the forests of North New Zealand, which characterised
the last chapter, and will now also pardon an equally abrupt return to
my humble doings.
When in Auckland I had bought three or four books on colonial fruit
culture, all of which I found, on investigating their contents,
advocated thorough drainage. I therefore made up my mind to attempt
to drain my smaller orchard, and in order to do so successfully,
carefully took the levels, and planned out the drains. I tried digging
them myself, but the work progressed so slowly, and my hands became
so uncomfortably blistered, that I was obliged to call in extraneous
aid, and applied to a labouring man, a settler in the district, for his
assistance. His terms were seven shillings a day, which I with much
reluctance agreed to give. He arrived at the scene of his labour at
eight o'clock on the morning following my interview with him, took a
full hour in the middle of the day for his dinner, and left off work at
five P.M. with a punctuality worthy of a better cause. At the end of
three days he had opened one drain to the required depth; it would take
ten of them to drain the orchard, and they would require, in order to
keep them open, filling up with tea-tree, the cutting and carrying of
which would probably equal the cost of the digging. I therefore came
to the conclusion that draining my orchard would go a good way towards
draining my purse, and determined to abandon the project.
The labouring man, when I informed him of my resolution, said, with a
melancholy air of superior wisdom, "I guessed you'd soon get tired of
it," and appeared quite resigned to his dismissal.
Among the labouring-men settlers (by which expression I mean those
who go out to work at so much a day) there is to be found a type of
humanity quite distinct from any other I have ever met with. Specimens
of this class are sometimes just sufficiently educated to be able to
read and write, and sometimes have no education at all, but still
they believe themselves--truly and earnestly believe themselves--to
be gentlemen. They are to be distinguished by solemn-looking faces,
to which beards are generally attached. They very seldom smile, never
laugh, and always speak slowly and deliberately, often using long words
in wrong places.
This variety of the labouring-man settler delights in being called
by the prefix Mr.----, and it would give him unspeakable joy to
receive a letter addressed Mr.----, Esq. Imported probably into New
Zealand in its early days, he knows little more than the Maori about
the doings of the great world. Yet he is very self-opinionated, and
considers Auckland the finest city in the universe. He does a good deal
of "gassing" in a solemn manner, which inclines a stranger to give
credence to his romances, until their dimensions become too large to
be swallowed. In spite of these little failings, he is steady, honest,
temperate, and his chief fault lies in his believing himself to be what
he is not, and what he never can be. He is a square man continually
trying to fit himself into a round hole, a task impossible for him to
accomplish, while the effort to do so sours is disposition and renders
him melancholy. He either possesses extreme religious views, and is
very bigoted and narrow-minded, or he has no religion of any kind. Of
course he owns land, given him by the Government that brought him out.
He works fairly hard on his own property--harder, I am inclined to
think, than he does when engaged on any one else's; and the fact of his
being a landed proprietor, probably gives him the impression that he
_must_ be a gentleman, and is the cause of all his futile strivings and
unhappiness.
I do not mean for one moment to assert that all the labouring-men
settlers are like the above. There are many who have been soldiers,
sailors, or have followed some occupation, before they settled in New
Zealand, which has given them opportunities of seeing life. Their views
are therefore larger and wider, and they have learnt how to laugh.
Still, in most of the settlements I am acquainted with, are to be found
some examples of the class of settler I have described.
Having abandoned the drainage scheme, I turned my attention to
effecting other improvements, and amongst them built a small pier or
wharf of limestone rock, at the sea end of which I kept my punt, and so
could get away in it as soon as the tide came in, instead of having to
push it over the rough limestone beach.
One day a young Matakohe settler called, and asked me if I would care
to join a small party, to ride out on the following morning to the
Wairoa swamp, to try and destroy a dangerous wild bull that was roaming
about there, and which a few days previously had gored the speaker's
horse, when he was cattle-hunting, he himself only escaping by jumping
into a creek. He also told me there were great numbers of Pūkĕkŏ or
swamp-hens there, and that after despatching the bull, we might be able
to have some Pūkĕkŏ shooting. I at once agreed to join the party, and
that night visions of roaring bulls with distended nostrils, lowered
heads, and erected tails attended my slumbers.
I awoke next morning with a sort of Gordon Cumming feeling about me,
and made preparation for my first day's big game shooting. Armed with
a rifle and fowling-piece, I mounted my horse, and sallied forth to
the place of rendezvous, where our party, four in number, had already
assembled, and after a ride of about nine miles, we reached the edge of
the swamp. Two of the party who had not brought guns, then proceeded on
horseback, to discover the whereabouts of the game, and one of them
dismounted to examine a clump of tea-tree, growing on a high mound
about four hundred yards out on the swamp.
There the animal was, sure enough, and the rash disturber of his peace
had only time to climb a friendly cabbage-tree when he charged.
We could see the man in the tree, but no sight of any animal, and
wondered what he could be doing up there, until he shouted out that he
was bailed up by the bull. Upon receiving this intelligence we sallied
forth to endeavour to persuade the beast to raise the siege, and the
mounted settler, by cracking the stock whip which he carried in the
vicinity of the scrub, at last succeeded in getting the bull to come
out on to the open swamp, when I immediately fired and put a rifle
ball through his stomach. Another bullet from a fowling-piece brought
him to the ground, and thus ended my first and only bull hunt--a very
tame affair. If the animal had seen and charged us when we were on foot
on the open swamp, before I handicapped him with a bullet, it would
probably have been quite exciting enough for some of us, but as it
turned out, the bull did not give half the sport the pious man's cow
afforded, when her calf was taken away.
There are great numbers of wild cattle in the back country of this
district, and I am told that most exciting adventures at times take
place with them, though I cannot speak from experience.
The two settlers who had not brought their guns, skinned the carcass
of the animal we had shot, and cut off some of the choicest pieces of
its flesh; and while they were so employed, the rest of us went on
the swamp to shoot Pūkĕkŏ, which were there in great numbers. Every
minute or two, as we pushed our way through the tall Raupo grass,
Pūkĕkŏ would rise about thirty yards ahead, and we had some very pretty
shooting, and made a heavy bag. The Pūkĕkŏ belongs undoubtedly to the
same family as the familiar moorhen of the old country. It is, however,
much larger, and is a very handsome bird. The neck, breast, and body
are bright blue, the wings black, and the underneath part of the tail
white. It has a flat red sort of comb or crown on the top of the head,
and red feet. Its flesh is very good to eat in the New Zealand autumn,
but only at that time of year.