The Runaway Settlers (12 page)

Two damp days were taken up in reaching the saddle. For the last three miles the Hurunui, which ran faster as it became smaller, had to be crossed more than thirty times, with the cattle sometimes coaxed and sometimes driven and sometimes having to be hunted back from the bush. The tall beech forest gave way to sub-alpine scrub and then to open heath where, on a whirr of wings, the keas descended. Where the Hurunui took its source from foaming torrents pouring down a mountain-side, there stood a slab hut.

Provisions could be bought here, though it could hardly be called a store. ‘I should have to be very hungry before I bought any of that flour,’ Mrs Phipps said to Archie, shuddering at the great black rats which bounded over the sacks in the full light of the day. But the storekeeper had a good fire going and he welcomed them in, to warm and dry themselves and to listen to gold-talk.

‘Weather’s clearing, I think, missus,’ he said, ‘but you’ll be wet all the same, in and out of the rivers. You got someone watching out for you?’

‘I’ve a son on the diggings: Bill Phipps. You haven’t heard of him?’

‘Can’t say as I have. You can’t keep tabs on ‘em. You hear they’re in one place, and when you get there they’ve rushed off after some other strike fifty miles away. You’ll be lucky if you see hide or hair of him.’

Archie, who could see no sense in getting dry when he’d be wet again within half an hour, stood outside, watching the keas. These cheeky green parrots reminded him of the boys at Kaiapoi, flocking round and staring curiously with cocked heads and scratching their toes on the ground. The difference was that they couldn’t ask their questions about why human beings made such crazy journeys.

Next came the climb to the Hurunui Saddle itself.

Swampy patches between the snowgrass had been churned by passing feet and hooves into pools of slush full of roots and stones. Terrified and trembling, the cattle picked their way through, trying to find firm ground but often sinking down to their knees; and much time had to be given to helping them out again. When they had descended through stony ground and stunted shrubs into the Teremakau, the poor beasts found travel even more terrifying. The stream, still quite small, surged down a deep gully so cluttered with boulders that there was often only just enough room for a bullock to be squeezed through. Sometimes they could be coaxed and sometimes they had to be forced, and it was not easy for Archie or Mrs Phipps to keep a footing against the force of the current. Fallen trees had to be clambered over or under. One moment they would be deep in mud, the next they would be waist-deep in icy water.

‘At least it cleans me up,’ said Mrs Phipps as she wrung the water from her skirt and remembered oddly how Mary Ann had complained of her long dress, because of the heat, on the road from Berrima.

Archie could not hear her, because he was far ahead and out of sight, and in any case the river was too rowdy for conversation. He was alarmed to see two men coming up:
would they frighten the cattle still more, and turn some of them back? But the men themselves were alarmed at the sight of the stamping, lowing beasts and climbed up the steep banks out of the way until the slow progress was over.

Although difficult, Archie found the descent exciting. The one who hated it most was Wally. He wasn’t a good water-dog any more: where were the gentle, salty tides of Governors Bay, where he loved to splash and carry sticks? The stones made him footsore and he refused to move, howling dismally, so that Archie had to drag or carry him until his own arms ached.

It was nearly dark when they reached the first piece of ground level enough to make camp; which meant, in this steep country, just level enough to be sure of not sliding down into the river.

Three men with horses had already arrived there. They held back the first of the cattle and waited for the drover to appear; and when they saw Archie, they wouldn’t believe at first that he was the drover.

‘You must have a mate!’

‘Yes. My mother!’

This set everyone laughing and the men watched keenly for the appearance of this daring woman. But she was a long time in coming, and Archie and two of the men, Charlie and Isaac, went up the gully to help her, leaving the third man to mind Wally and the mob. He had the unlikely name of Horace.

‘Blimey!’ cried Horace when at last Mrs Phipps appeared, dripping wet from her muddied lace collar to her heavy boots. ‘Is this the lady drover! Big things come in small parcels, I reckon. Well, lady, make the acquaintance of Horace!’

Mrs Phipps roared with laughter too.

‘Oh, no! Not a Roman name—here!’

‘Everyone laughs,’ sighed Horace. ‘I can’t sober them up with five-pound notes.’

The trio had been on the Otago goldfields and had missed their ship at Dunedin; so rather than wait for the next one, they had set out overland. They were originally from Australia and were delighted when Archie told them he was an Aussie too, and that Wally’s name was really Wallaby.

‘A good thing you didn’t try bringing horses,’ said Charlie. ‘Mine got cast coming down the creek. Had to cut the girths to get him free. We might have to do ‘em in and give ‘em over for dog tucker.’

The horses did look a sad sight. There was little enough food about to attract a bullock, and none to attract a horse; they had only a few sodden oats left in their bags.

The Australians had no tent, but had rigged up a shelter of branches. In any case, the night was fine and there was a splendid camp fire where Mrs Phipps cooked damper for all five. Charlie helped Archie to pitch the tent, which meant cutting back some of the bushes to make room enough.

‘I’ll take my sleep first, Mother, shall I? And then I’ll get out again for the midnight watch,’ said Archie.

The men stared.

‘You chaps sailors—up here in the mountains?’ said Isaac.

‘We’ll see ‘em sailing off down river in the morning,’ teased Horace.

‘It’s to see the cattle don’t go bush,’ explained Archie.

‘You mean you stay up all night?’ Isaac went on.

‘One at a time. We’ve lost a cow already.’

‘Only one cow?’

‘One too many,’ said Mrs Phipps.

‘How if we took a turn?’ said Horace. ‘Reckon I could teach a bullock his manners.’

‘Can you count, though?’ said Charlie.

‘Enough of your chaff! If I see a cow going off, that’s one cow, and if I see two, that’s two!’

‘You’ll probably count every pair of legs, and double the herd for Mrs Phipps,’ roared Isaac. ‘Sit down, youngster; you can get a good night’s sleep later on.’

Archie needed no second invitation. The five of them crowded round the fire, only getting up from time to time to make sure that the horses and the cattle were where they were supposed to be. The poor animals were so weary that they made no move to roam, and Wally was quite enough guard for them.

‘You drovers know a song?’ asked Isaac.

So Mrs Phipps began in her strong, clear voice, while Archie joined in with notes sometimes treble and sometimes bass and sometimes disappearing altogether.

‘I’m a jolly little farmer, from Bedfordshire I came,

To see my friends from Camberwell, and Morgan is my name.

I’ve a dairy farm in Devon where I live when I’m at home,

And if I get safe back again, from there I’ll never roam.

‘I lost myself entirely, I cannot tell you where,

‘Twas in a very lonely street, the corner of a square;

A neatly-dressed young woman came walking up that way

And long as I remember I’ll ne’er forget the day.’

The song went on through many verses to tell how he offered the lady his farm of forty acres, a horse and pig and cow; and they could spend their life on love and watercresses. He even gave her a sovereign towards buying her wedding dress, but alas, there came a letter telling him the sad truth.

‘When next you ask a stranger into partnership for life,

Be sure she is a maiden, not a widow or a wife!

I’ve a husband of my own, and his name is Willie Gray.

And if ever I can afford it, the sovereign I’ll repay;

But to think that I should marry you upon the first of May—

You must have been as green as watercresses!’

‘Bravo, bravo!’ cried the Australians, and not to be outdone, in tones more enthusiastic than tuneful, they sang:

‘It’s in a first-rate business section
Where four bush-roads cross and meet,
It stands in a quiet and neat direction
To rest the weary traveller’s feet.

‘Rows of bottles standing upright,
Labelled with bright blue and gold,
Beer so cold it needs no icing
From the cellar’s drear, dark hole.’

Verse after verse followed to tell of the temptations—the cards and bagatelle and the dancing girls and smiling darling Nancy who ‘turns the tap, and thanks you for your shilling O’. But when the landlord of the ‘shanty’ has fleeced the digger—

‘Penniless you’ll have to wander
Many a long and weary day,
Till you earn another cheque to squander
In those shanties by the way.’

They roared out every refrain, ‘the drear, dark hole’, as if they wanted to drown the roaring of the river; and occasionally a morepork or a kiwi, or an unhappy cow, put in a musical side-effect to the fireside party high up in the mountains.

After a good night’s sleep, Archie and Mrs Phipps rose to find that the Australians were as good as their word. The cattle had been well guarded; and the three horses were saddled and ready to leave.

‘We’ll watch out for that Bill of yours,’ said Horace cheerfully, ‘and pull him out of whatever mud-hole he’s got stuck into!’

They rode off, leaving a bright fire for Mrs Phipps to cook her damper and bacon.

Going down the Teremakau was no easier, although the valley had widened and the river broadened as new tributaries swelled its flow. They were now in the true Westland forest. The awesome tales of the explorers were quite true. The growth was so dense that Archie blunted his bowie-knife with cutting it back, and he had to use the axe. The supplejacks, which in Governors Bay made swings for Emma, were tangled into cattle-traps; and whenever a bullock got caught up, it was a hard job to cut him free as he bellowed and plunged. The river had to be crossed over and over again. The mob had to be driven in front, and Mrs Phipps would have none of Archie’s idea that he should lead the first beast across the water, and encourage the others to follow.

‘No, Archie! We take the pole and stick together. We’ll take no chances with this “Terrible Cow”!’

‘Then let me have the top of the pole, and break the current for you!’ he said. And holding a second stick, he prodded
the river-bed before him to make sure there were no holes to fall into.

This went on for three days. It was not possible to control every one of the cattle, and in any case some of them were weakening with the lack of their usual food. One bullock went missing, and another became caught in a snag at the river’s edge and half-strangled, half-drowned himself. Archie cut him free and Wally, who was tired of eating wekas, had his first square meal in many miles.

Where the right bank of the Teremakau spread out towards Lake Brunner, there was a 1,200-acre stretch of pakihi. This area of rough grass, sedge and low bushes was known as the ‘Natural Paddock’, and here the thirty-one beasts were soon ravenously biting at their first good feed on this side of the ranges. There was no need to watch them now.

The paddock was a busy encampment, with several tents, a store, two grog-shanties, several horses, and numerous men—but not another woman in sight. Diggers came hurrying round gallantly to pitch the tent for the lady. Many of them were ‘rough diamonds’ who took special trouble to be polite.

Mrs Phipps decided to remain here for at least a couple of days while the cattle recovered their condition, and she and Archie rested and dried themselves out. At the same time she went round making inquiries. Would it be best to make a deal with some storekeeper, who would take the cattle on from here? Or where could she make a better sale? And had anyone, by chance, met up with a digger named Bill Phipps?

In reply to the last question, it seemed as if every second man on the goldfields was named Bill and not one of them answered to the description. As to the cattle, it would be most profitable to continue down the river. The sea-beach was the
highway to Hokitika or the Grey where there were big and hungry townships.

But the last part of the route was the most dangerous of all; the Teremakau was too deep and wide to be forded. They must either swim, or go in a boat with the risk of being overturned in the rapids. If they preferred it, there was a land-route. It lay through a marsh like a mass of filthy black glue with rotting logs below and above its surface, and creepers as thick as enormous spider-webs. Mrs Phipps was sure that she did not prefer this way, for she would never get the cattle through.

‘Mother, what did Mr Mahurangi say about this?’

‘That only those who know the land are to be trusted. And that hasty tree-climbers often catch a fall.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means we must be patient till we hear of a way.’ Next morning Archie went down to study the river. Some of the fords in the upper reaches were terrifying enough; but here the water sped by in great swirls. They must surely be ‘hasty tree-climbers’ who would venture to swim it! Then he noticed something moving far away against the opposite bank. It was a Maori dug-out canoe carrying several people.

Archie watched with growing excitement. Sometimes the canoe came towards him, sometimes it swung sharply across the other way, first the current took it, then it shot across the current. In Lyttelton Harbour he had seen boats well handled in calm and in storm; his own brother Jack was as good at it as anyone—but he had never seen anything like this. The light craft was master in this violent river, and in the end it slid gracefully to its landing place only a few yards from where he was standing. Four diggers stepped ashore, leaving
the canoe to its boatmen. Of course they were Maoris: a man and a woman.

‘Tena korua!’ cried Archie. ‘Your canoe is a bird of the sea!’

He was surprised to hear himself talking with a poetical phrase like Mr Mahurangi. The man answered with pleasure:

‘Tena koe, e hoa! Ah! the gold has tempted a very young man today!’

‘We’ve come with cattle, not for gold,’ said Archie. ‘You are Ngai Tahu people?’

‘You know Ngai Tahu?’ said the woman. She was young—not much more than a girl.

‘We are neighbours at Rapaki. Mr Mahurangi told us—’

‘Mahurangi!’ she cried. ‘He’s my father’s cousin! Did he speak to you of Ruia?’

Archie had to say no, but it made no difference to the warmth of their welcome; they stepped out of the canoe and shook his hands with delight. The man’s name was Tamati. When Archie told them about his mother they asked to see her at once.

From this lucky meeting came a sensible plan. Tamati and Ruia would take them down-river in the canoe, in careful stages. The cattle must sometimes be driven and sometimes be made to swim; so that part of the time, Mrs Phipps and Archie would be walking along the banks. Only the pack-bullock would be left behind.

The journey began that same day. Men gathered on the banks to see them off. ‘I’d liefer swim than go in that bit of bark,’ said a digger aloud, and others agreed with him and tried to persuade Mrs Phipps to come ashore.

‘Stuff!’ she said. ‘I think we’ve seen more of boats and boatmen than the rest of you. Do a good turn now, and drive this mob into the water for us!’

They were right to be confident. The Maoris knew every movement of the river. Just when a sheer cliff or a boulder loomed ahead, and Archie gasped aloud in spite of himself, the canoe would shoot neatly past or veer round into safe water. The only trouble was that they had so often to leave the canoe and push along the banks with the cattle. Still, the bullocks behaved well and only one stupid animal got himself stranded and lost somewhere among the gorges.

At last the river widened on to a shingle bed which stretched right down to the ocean beach.

There was another small settlement here, and a surprise. A dealer from Hokitika was waiting. Someone had told him that an extra fine mob was coming down. Could that ‘someone’ have been Charlie, or Isaac, or Horace? At all events he needed only to pass the word around and the butchers would send their buyers tomorrow to bid for the stock at auction.

The tent did not have to be pitched that night—indeed, it had been left standing at the Natural Paddock. There was honour among the diggers and although they might swear and drink and fight, they would never touch a tent. Archie and Mrs Phipps stayed in a Maori hut not far from the river and dined like royalty on baked fish and potatoes and fresh green cabbage; which somehow, after the travelling meals of rice and damper, tasted better than anything grown at Governors Bay.

Next day the bullocks and cows were sold for an average of £30 a head, which, after the auctioneer had taken his share, made more than £800 to be taken home across the ranges.