The Runaway Settlers (11 page)

Within two days, the cattle were mustered and ready to start, with Wally standing guard to see that they did not stray. Although Archie had never succeeded in justifying the full name ‘Wallaby’ by teaching his dog to jump, he had trained up a splendid worker. There were twenty-five young bullocks, eight cows, and a tough old pack-bullock who was brought down to the house and loaded with supplies—a tent, billies, blankets, a little warm clothing, matches and food.

‘Will you see Bill over there, Mother? Will you look for him?’ they all wanted to know. And really it was her dearest wish that they might find him; but she had to say that it was only a small chance—the goldfields ran along the coast for nearly a hundred miles.

Only Archie was to go with her. Mary Ann had charge of the house. Jim, who had left school now, would help Jack to harvest the fruit and vegetables and take them to be sold. Only seven-year-old Emma minded being left; and she minded so much that she clung all day at her mother’s side, getting in the way of the preparations.

Mrs Phipps filled a basket with eggs, just big enough for Emma to carry, and herself took a freshly-killed rooster for a quick visit to Rapaki. That she should go now, when everything was in such a whirl, was a mystery to the others. Ever since the women had come to take refuge from the storm,
there had been frequent comings and goings between Rapaki and the Phipps’s cottage. Maori gratitude was long-lived, and from time to time little gifts were sent over. Mrs Phipps had her independent ways as well, and liked to return the compliment sometimes. But why now?

On the way, Emma had her mother all to herself. She felt important with her basket to carry; and she forgot her tears and joined in when Mrs Phipps began to sing funny verses like this one:

‘The man in the wilderness asked of me,
How many strawberries grow in the sea?
I answered him as I thought good,
As many red herrings as grow in the wood!’

Nowadays Emma could do more than sing—she could whistle, and a bright little refrain followed the last line and startled a tomtit right off his branch. Mrs Phipps went on:

‘Laugh and the world laughs with you,
Weep and you’re weeping alone,
Prosper and give and they’ll let you live
But fail, and you’re on your own.’

By the time they returned home, Emma was whistling gaily all round the place. She was going to look after the hens, she said, and take the spare eggs to Rapaki each week so that her mother wouldn’t worry while she was away.

So, with stout boots on their feet and cheerful farewells behind them, Mrs Phipps and Archie set out over Dyer’s Pass and through Riccarton, to reach the diggers’ road.

In the village of Kaiapoi, twelve miles north of Christchurch, the people found it hard to get their day’s work done. As soon as the first voice could be heard shouting, ‘Here come the diggers!’, windows would fly open, shopkeepers would follow their customers to the doors, and men would leave the hotel bar with their foaming tankards in their hands. Sometimes the diggers came in twos and threes, sometimes as many as fifty at a time. It was all the same: there was much joking and back-slapping and hand-shaking as the Kaiapoi people wished them all the fortune in the world—especially if they returned to spend some of the money in Kaiapoi.

On this March morning there appeared a more unusual sight. Not that there was anything unusual about a mob of cattle—or even a loaded pack-bullock; but with these, there walked a little woman of middle-age, a boy of fifteen, and a large tawny collie dog; and no man at all! The woman’s clothes were neat, and she wore lace at her throat, but her skirt was shortened above the ankle and her boots were as sturdy as a man’s. At the baker’s, she went in to ask for fresh bread.

‘And where be you taking your stock, madam?’ asked the baker politely.

‘To the diggings,’ she said. ‘The Teremakau.’

The baker leaned over his counter, speaking confidentially, although every word could be followed by the knot of people gathering around the door.

‘The “Terrible Cow” they calls that river! Did they tell you
what like o’ country it is? Times they come back through here, chest and throat all knocked up, not a penny to pay for the bread nor a hand steady enough to hold it!’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m well acquainted and well prepared.’

‘It’ll be raining torrents over there, seeing it’s nor’west here!’ said a man standing by.

‘Then likely it’ll be over before we get there.’

‘It’ll make mud-pools up to your neck, and flood all the rivers!’

‘I’m well prepared,’ repeated Mrs Phipps, smiling.

‘Good luck to you, madam,’ said the baker, ‘and may we have your custom on your return? You’ll be glad of fresh bread by then, I’ll warrant.’

‘I’ll be calling,’ she assured him gaily, and the little crowd parted for her to go out, all wishing her well.

Out in the street, Archie and Wally were the centre of a crowd of boys.

‘Where’re you taking them cattle?’ asked the foremost one.

‘To the diggings,’ said Archie.

‘Over the snowy ranges? Ain’t you got no father—just you and your mother?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Garn! You’ll get bogged in the mud.’ Other boys chimed in:

‘You got to swim the rivers, d’ye know? Can those cows swim?’

‘The dead’uns will make good tucker for your dog!’

‘Got your panning dish?’

‘They get you drunk in them grog-shanties!’

All this was backed up with so many laughs and shouts that Archie couldn’t get a word in, but the next question was followed by a serious silence.

‘What’ll you do, if robbers stick your mother up?’

‘I’ve got a knife,’ said Archie calmly.

‘Show us, show us!’

Archie unsheathed his bowie-knife and let them feel its keen point and blade. One boy thrust out another question:

‘And what’ll your mother do if robbers stick
you
up?’

‘She’s got a knife the same as that one!’

This brought a burst of cheering; and the boys stood back in respectful awe as Mrs Phipps came out of the baker’s shop with her bread to load on to the pack-bullock. Wally, who was peacefully dozing, was roused and the mob moved noisily away up the road.

They were near to the end of their second day out from home. Clouds of dust rolled with the nor’wester over the tussock plains, fit to choke cattle and drovers together. On they went until they came to a small clear stream, where Mrs Phipps and Archie could cool themselves, and the mob be rested.

‘What were the boys saying?’ asked Mrs Phipps.

‘That we’d be sure to get bogged, or drowned—us or the cattle!’ Archie grinned. ‘And why hadn’t we got a father with us, and what if we’re stuck up by robbers?’

‘We’ll show them!’ his mother laughed. ‘We’re better without a man. There’s one pitfall we’ll miss.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The grog! And besides—why do you think I went to Rapaki, Archie?’

‘To take fowls and eggs, and get Emma happy.’

‘Yes—and to talk to the men that know this trail! They
were going through those mountains before gold was ever heard of, or bullocks, or boots for that matter. They do say that whenever a Pakeha will take the Maori advice, he comes to no harm in the ranges.’

‘They’ve got kinsmen over there,’ said Archie. ‘I’ve heard them talk about it.’

‘Yes, they’re all Ngai Tahu…Oh, it’ll be fun coming back through Kaiapoi. Bogged or drowned or stuck up by robbers, is it? We shall see!’

It took five days to pass through the tussock country, through Waipara and the Weka Pass and the Waikari Basin. Mrs Phipps did not want to hurry the cattle, but to give them good grazing for as long as was possible. Camping places were well marked by those who had gone before them; and soon they were experts at pitching the tent and making comfortable beds on the hard ground.

The road was never empty. Coaches, taking the better-off prospectors with them, rolled past amid noisy cheers. Horsemen and foot-travellers were continually pressing past the slow-moving cattle. But all this speed came to a stop when the road ended at the entrance to the Waitohi Gorge.

Here there was a small settlement: a rough-looking accommodation house, a grog-shanty, and a store with hardly any goods to offer. Abandoned waggons lay about, for they were less valuable than the gold which their owners expected to find at the other end of the trail.

People gathered round Archie and his mother to offer good advice.

‘You keep those cattle mighty quiet going through the Gorge, or you’ll have ‘em bolting up the bush, or toppled in the river afore you can wink!’ said a man.

‘And don’t let that dog go barking at their heels,’ said another.

‘Wally’s trained,’ Archie answered proudly. ‘He won’t bark.’

The track led up the Waitohi into a smaller tributary and over a low saddle to the Hurunui valley. They were a hundred feet above the river on a path only wide enough to go singlefile, where the cattle must not be alarmed by anything, such as men and horses trying to pass in a hurry. Mrs Phipps took the lead with the pack-bullock, while Archie and Wally came last. In this way, other travellers could be politely warned of the size of the mob, and where possible the bullocks could be turned into a wider space for a spell.

This plan worked well. After about three miles of the main gorge, they entered a tributary and, crossing and re-crossing the stream about twenty times, they came to the saddle. At some time there had been a bush fire, for there were burnt stumps of great trees all about, and grass grew on the slopes. Many people had camped on the small flat which lay below.

Clearly, if the cattle should stray it would be impossible to find them all again. From now on the guarding could not be left to Wally alone. Archie and Mrs Phipps had to take turns all night, one watching, one sleeping.

Next morning they were away early into the still more difficult gorge of the Hurunui. Fast and blue flowed the river, between banks so high and narrow that Archie could throw a stone across and hear the crack echo back to him, but he could neither see nor hear it strike the water. River-shags flew screeching by. It was all very beautiful, but often he was too busy to look at anything but the great patches of sticky mud over which the bullocks had to be coaxed. The nor’west rain had done its work here. Sometimes there were shelving patches of rock where a false step would send boy or beast sliding straight down into the rowdy river.

It took all day to cover those eight miles and to come out
into a wider valley where a storekeeper had set up in business, selling nothing much except flour, sugar, tea, salt and bacon. By now, damper baked in the camp-fire embers was the main food for Archie and Mrs Phipps, as it was for most foot-travellers.

Next morning, the south branch of the Hurunui had to be crossed just before it joined the north branch which the travellers must follow. Here there was a tent for selling whisky and rum; and the shanty-keeper was doing well, for men liked to warm up their insides before plunging into the icy water which was three feet deep in the middle. Indeed, there was a small mob of bullocks here but no drover to be seen.

‘He’s kicking up his heels, I dare say,’ said Mrs Phipps, looking disapprovingly at the tent, ‘and his cattle looking after themselves. They’ll be half-starved when they get to the diggings—if they haven’t lost themselves first.’

At the ford, she tried out the first piece of advice she had been given by the Maoris. She gave Archie the other end of a stout pole and, holding it before them, keeping side on to the current, they walked across with one careful step placed after another. Of course they were thoroughly wet, but that was something to be taken for granted. As for the cattle, once the leader was across the others followed, with plenty of encouragement from Wally who was allowed to bark as much as he liked.

Lake Taylor, the site of the last sheep-station on the route and the only one in the area of lakes, river valleys and towering mountains, was another favourite camping place. Watching his cattle that night, Archie counted the lights of twenty-seven camp fires. George Taylor and his wife, of the Lakes Station, must often have wearied of the many people who came, hungry and sick, looking for help, and of the cattle which grazed where
they ran their own sheep. In spite of this their kindness was well known, and Mrs Phipps decided to call on Mrs Taylor. This was man’s country, and a woman must long to talk to a woman, as she did herself.

Mrs Taylor received her in friendly fashion.

‘You’d be wise to make a good camp,’ she said, ‘for if I’m not mistaken, there’s more rain coming. What if it should rain for a week?’

‘We can’t hold our bullocks,’ said Mrs Phipps. ‘Rain or no rain, I mean to get them there in good condition.’

‘Then make the most of one dry night, for you never know when the next will be,’ was the cheerful comment.

Next day they found the lake shores so swampy that they passed the bodies of several horses which had become bogged. Here again they had to take the greatest of care in keeping the cattle to firm ground. Past lovely Lake Katrine, alongside great and broad Lake Sumner they went, and into the tall beech forest.

By this time the rain had indeed come and the daylight was growing dim. Although this was not the best place, with water falling from the branches in large, stinging drops, Mrs Phipps decided to stop as soon as she found enough clear and level ground to hold the cattle. There was a dry corner under a bank for the fire, and the tent was secure enough although perched over stones and sodden leaves. Mrs Phipps made a hot supper of rice and bacon; and then, just as they made ready for the night, she found that one of the cows was missing.

‘I’ll find her, Mother,’ said Archie. ‘It’s my turn for early watch, and anyway I’m needing some wekas for dog tucker.’

The wekas were not hard to find. They were calling from everywhere around, and often the sound was joined by the shrill cries of the kiwi, but these were not daring enough to show themselves. Archie kept on the move even when it was quite dark and too risky to go far afield looking for the cow. He wanted to be sure that none of the others joined her; and besides it was the only way to keep warm.

But before it was time to rouse his mother to take her turn, he came to the tent and wakened her.

‘Mother! There’s someone about!’

She sat up, feeling the sodden ground ooze beneath her, and brushed back her hair which was plaited for the night. ‘Someone? Who, Archie?’

‘I can hear a man snoring, or groaning—I don’t know what.’

‘Are you sure? A weka, or some bird—’

‘No, it’s not. Do come, Mother!’

She reached for her cloak. Everything felt sodden and her boots were thick with mud which struck cold against her feet. As they stumbled through the trees the low bushes whipped against their faces, but at least in this beech forest there were no great tangles of supplejack.

‘Listen,’ whispered Archie.

A long shrill call came, answered by another.

‘Kiwis,’ she said.

‘No—listen!’

There were only the crackling, clicking, dripping noises of the bush.

‘I’m sure it was here,’ said Archie. ‘Let’s try this way.’ They edged along a log heavy with filmy ferns, and Archie trod on a stick which crackled like a pistol-shot. At
once, almost at their feet, came a deep moaning and a thick, mumbled voice:

‘Who’sh that?’

‘He’s hurt!’ cried Mrs Phipps.

The sound of a woman’s voice in that drenched wilderness would have stirred a dying man. However, this man wasn’t dying. His one companion—his whisky bottle—had failed him and left him helpless in the mud.

‘Help him up, Archie, and we’ll walk him to the tent.’

‘I can walk with the nexsht man. Who’sh that? Who’sh that?’ complained the stranger.

‘What if he’s dangerous?’ whispered Archie.

‘Stuff! He’s helpless, not dangerous. Come, we’ll drag him to the fire.’

They did this, to the tune of many grunts and feeble yells. The sticks which had been laid close to the glow to dry out for the morning were pushed into the fire which was soon blazing brightly. The man was propped against the bank where he watched the steam rising from his own clothes.

‘You take your rest now, Archie,’ said Mrs Phipps.

‘What if you need me?’ Archie fingered his bowie-knife and looked suspiciously at their guest; but his mother only laughed.

‘He’s not dangerous! Off you go now!’

Archie crept gratefully into the tent, pulled off his boots, rolled up in the damp blankets and went to sleep.

The rain was still falling, but very gently. Mrs Phipps put the billy on the fire and brewed strong, sweet tea. This she cooled enough to be sure it could not scald the man, and made him drink it, ignoring his mumbled demands for whisky. Then she found what was left of the rice, and warmed it spoonful
by spoonful. The man ate greedily. At last he slid awkwardly so close to the fire that she had to rake the embers away from him, and with noisy snoring he fell asleep.

It was morning before the stranger was fit for conversation. When he heard the Lakes Station was only half a day’s walking distance, he tried his legs and declared that he could easily get there by himself. Mrs Phipps questioned him:

‘You’re a prospector—going home?’

‘Yes, thank you kindly, ma’am.’

‘Where’s your mate?’

‘Drownded!’

‘Oh, what a misfortune! Where did this happen?’

‘In the “Terrible Cow”. I tried to save him—it weren’t no use. There’s more bones than stones in that river.’

Archie shivered, but said nothing, and Mrs Phipps pressed on.

‘No luck with the gold?’

‘We got a little; and that’s all gone down the river with him. We was packing up anyway. It’s the rain that got us beat. The whisky’s all gone; only thing that keeps your insides dry. The rain goes right through otherwise.’

‘Stuff!’ said Mrs Phipps. ‘What you need is some good food inside you, and we’ve given you a morsel of that.’

‘Thank you kindly, ma’am.’

‘We’ll set you on your way, but first, tell me. Did you meet anyone over there by the name of Phipps? Bill Phipps?’

‘Bills by the dozen. Scores of ‘em. Hundreds of ‘em. What name did you say, ma’am?’

‘Bill Phipps.’

‘Not that I heard tell of. You going to join their party, you and the boy here? You got a right recipe for luck, eh, boy?’

Archie looked across at Wally and the bullocks, and the thoughts flashed across his mind that
they
never made such fools of themselves.

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘We’re drovers.’

‘Good for you, matey. Stick to it. Stick to the beef, I say!’

Mrs Phipps and Archie watched him go—another wrecked man who would be pleading for the contents of Mrs Taylor’s cupboards; and both of them were thinking of how Bill had come home from the Otago goldfields, as parched and dry, inside and out, as this man was wet.

‘Where do you think Bill is now?’ Archie burst out.

‘Not like that, I hope,’ said Mrs Phipps grimly.

The lost cow had not re-appeared. It was not much use, now, looking for her; and with thirty-three beasts they set off again up the valley.