Where Did Great-Grandma Go??
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Rev JM Allan (Inchclutha Presbyterian Minister): at centre in back row Balivi (in front, 1st on left) John Smaill, sitting crosslegged behind Balivi Rev Thomas Smaill (in front, 3rd on left) Mrs Helen Smaill (in front, 4th on left) Andrew Smaill and Christian Archibald are possibly the couple on the left end of the back row. Names of all others not positively identified. This photo was taken at Inchclutha about Nov 1895 during the visit of the Rev Thomas Smaill and Mrs Helen Smaill back to thir home district. Both were Presbyterian Missionaries in the New Hebrides (now Vanuatu) and they brought a young New Hebridean lad called "Balivi" with them |
PIONEERING a record of Agnes Archibald, wife of James Archibald, |
| INDEX |
After her husband James died in 1855 at
Edinburgh, Scotland, Agnes Archibald (age 70) sailed for New Zealand and
pioneered at Inchclutha ["Inch"
meaning "island" on
the Clutha River -- or section of land nearly surrounded by the bends in
the river] on the Clutha River of Otago, in company with her daughter’s
family-- the Smaills, and another family of friends -- the Darling
family. [Inchclutha is now known as "Stirling"
which is near Balclutha].
This record is of two parts - the first being recorded from recollections of Gordon Smaill, grandson of Andrew and Christian Smaill. It covers the advanced scouting for acquiring a location to settle somewhere along the Clutha River. There is description of how information was gathered, where the family camped while the alternatives were considered, and how they proceeded. He briefly covers the family's activities in a two year period.
The next part is a continuation of the record of William Smaill (grandson of Agnes Archibald; son of Andrew and Christian Smaill), who recorded the sailing voyage and continues to give detail of what happened as they moved from camp at Anderson’s Bay to a Maori whare [“whare” meaning place or building]. They stayed until they built a large frame house on their settled land called “Mayfield.” Of course they called their home the “Mayfield House.”
Again this record is transcribed by Marloe L. Archibald (August 2000) from difficult-to-read printed material acquired from cousin Aileen Wood of Australia. This information has long been absent from the Americas.
Re-formatted by Lana Archibald
INDEX:
The Scottish Emigration to New Zealand (historical) The Voyage on the "Strathallen"
History and Info on New Zealand Grandma Agnes & Aunt Fanny lost
Topographical Map of New Zealand Location of Mayfield
Cities of New Zealand (Dunedin; Balclutha, Port Chalmers) First Church Meetings
Map of New Zealand (with Clutha River) First Experience with Milking Cows
Map of Districts in New Zealand Visit from Jack Allan and Jack Duncan
Map of the Otago district Clearing and Fencing the Land
Description of the Otago district of New Zealand Other Settlers at InchClutha
Photo of the Clutha River The Building of Mayfield House
Location of Inchclutha on map Harvest
Death of Andrew
Picture of Mayfield House School
Arrival of Cousin James Robertson
Arrival of Cousin Robina Smaill
Drowning of Captain Simpson
The Gold Diggings
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Agnes Archibald in New Zealand
Arrival at Port Chalmers, New Zealand
Recollections by Gordon Smaill, Agnes’ great-grandson
After passage from Leith, the ‘Strathallen’ arrived in Port
Chalmers in 1859. On board were the families of the Smaills.
Andrew with his wife [Christina], six boys and one girl, known as the Black
Smaills; and their cousins five boys grown up without their parents, being
fair, were the Red Smaills. Transferred to smaller craft, they camped
at Anderson’s Bay
My grandfather Andrew Smaill, with a fellow passenger,
Mr. Darling, on the advice of Mr. McAndrew, went off south to spy out the
land for a suitable locality to start their lives in New Zealand. My grandfather
[Andrew Smaill] had a friend from Edinburgh [Scotland], who had already
settled at Inchclutha,
and possibly influenced him to emigrate. After a journey of 50 miles,
they received a great welcome from the Pillans
who
had gathered other Edinburgh settlers: the Willocks, Smiths, Davidsons,
Wrights, Barkers, and Maitlands. These settlers did everything to help
them in their search. Away they went towards the bush-clad Kaitangata
hills. Struggling through the undergrowth, they arrived at the highest
point where they had a complete view of the winding Clutha River and the
plains, stretching towards the Koau branch on the other side of the island.
They also saw a building about two miles from the river mouth, the only
signs of life. Pushing their way down through the bush, they arrived at
the river opposite the dwelling and saw a boat on the beach. “Cooee”-ing,
a woman came towards the boat with a lantern. More “cooee”-ing, she
persuaded two Maoris to push off and cross the river to take them across.
Arriving they found Mrs. Mitchell, who Andrew knew well in Edinburgh; her
husband, Willie Mitchell was away up to what was later Balclutha for provisions.
The meeting was providential as we shall see.
Meeting Mr. Mitchell
the following day, he told them of two blocks of land further up the river,
which he thought would fit their requirements. Saying goodbye to these
admirable people, they went off to look at the proposed selections. Duly
examined, they tossed up for them and went off to Dunedin to sign up.
On Mr. Darling’s
area was a large Maori whare belonging to the huge chief, having another
whare, passed it over to these new settlers and always remained very friendly
and was compensated in various ways. Mr. Darling and Andrew prepared
the whare to receive the families and pitched tents that had to stand all
weathers. Everything ready, the families boarded a bullock wagon
at Anderson’s Bay for their 50 mile journey to Inchclutha .
Their
first day took them over Saddle Hill and they were able to camp at Homestead
and have use of the barn, having any amount of blankets and rugs, they
were comfortable. Then on the way to Waihola, where they boarded
a boat which smoothly helped them south. Another day or two they
were on top of the hill looking down on the river winding its way through
the lush country. Getting nearer, they saw the Pillan’s white boat
with a blue streak around the gunnel. The boat was to take them to their
new home.
Now the clearing
of flax bushes and cabbage trees began. Cow bail had to be made for the
essential two cows purchased, and the fencing by post and rail of the first
15 acres cleared. Fortunately, there was a stand of large totara
trees on the property and more across the river. These were felled and
cut to 10-foot lengths and split into rails. Posts also of totara
and drilled with a 1-1/2 auger to take 4 rails. The wood between
the auger holes, the boys would cut out with chisels. The father
knew one Jack Crammon, a blacksmith in Dunedin, who welded 3 feet
of one inch steel on to the auger. The auger mounted on top of the two
posts and a fly wheel in the center gave the auger momentum to carry the
drill through the post. In Dunedin , he also had the good fortune
to secure a set of steel harrows although he made a set with wooden
tines. [Note 2003 -- from Pat McWatters: "It is amazing
what they did with the flax. Flax bushes that have been growing for
a few years are extremely difficult to get out, and these days it is recommended
that the bush be tied behind a 4WD and pulled out -- to think that there
was acres of flax which all had to be grubbed out by hand!"]
The two bullocks,
which he exchanged for their grand piano in Dunedin, plodded over the cleared
ground and made it ready for sowing the wheat and potatoes. The potatoes
gave a return of 30 tons to the acre, and the wheat which was cut with
scythes and threshed with flails by two men on contract gave about 80 bushels
to the acre, a yield this rich river silt gave for 16 years without adding
manure.
The Smaills called
or named their holding ‘Mayfield’
and the Darlings ‘Cambria Bank’.
Small boats came into the river at Port Molyneaux and berthed in
the river in front of Mayfield and took aboard the wheat and potatoes that
were not required for Mayfield use. These boats also brought cases of household
requirements stored in Dunedin from the ‘Strathallen’.
It was decided that the Darlings’ house was to
be built first, near the Maori whare and shed. Twenty by twelve feet
was to be their first building. The house would be two stories and built
with totara slabs and pit sawn timber. As each room was completed,
it was soon occupied. Mayfield house was the next major job; Andrew
had managed to find two settlers who were builders. Thick totara
trunks were split into slabs some 18 inches wide and 2 inches thick.
Mr. Darling was
adept with adz and he made those boards as if they were planed. He also
had two men pit sawing boards on contract. Mayfield house was also
two-storied with attic windows, built as two compartments with a staircase
to each. Also, a conservatory in which Mrs. Smaill always had many
bushes of grapes in season.
About 1860,
Mayfield was completed, and the gold started and every able man in the
district decided to down tools and go. Grandfather Andrew was one
of them. Having now a boat of his own on the river, he swam his two
bullocks across the river, loaded a sledge with a tent, gear and four sacks
of flour and with a companion headed for Gabriel’s Gully. Of course
all the local gold was gone when he arrived and he had no intention of
going further into Otago central, knowing that his flour would be commandeered.
He sold it for 1 L- [British pound?] a mug and went home.
I mentioned
that the Smaill cousins, all grown men, arrived in the same ship. Alex,
a farmer, took land at Tomahawk. His farm also took in Smaills’ beach.
He went in for a dairy herd to supply milk to citizens of Dunedin. He built
a large stone byre, which would take 100 cows. He put in one of the
first milking machines in New Zealand, a Danish hartnet. He also
put in an oil engine and Gramme Dynamo for electric light as they started
milking in the dark hours. A musical family, they each played
an instrument.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Recollections of William Smaill,
Grandson of Agnes Archibald
As I said in the close
of
the Strathallen voyage, our first home was at Goat Hill, Anderson’s
Bay the house of James Adam, then emigration agent, and at the time in
the Old Country on emigration business. This arrangement had been made
between Mr. Adam and my father in Edinburgh before we left. So all he really
had to do was to arrange with Mr. Adam’s agents.
Now enters
another aspect of the situation. I have mentioned the Darling family
as being with us-- now they are to be very closely associated with us in
all our movements. We were, from this time onward, until the death of the
old folks, largely one family in many respects. The two families
went to Goat Hill together. On our side was grandmother (mother’s
mother--Agnes), Aunt Fannie (father’s sister), Father [Andrew Smaill Sr.],
and Mother [Christina Archibald Smaill], Aggie [age 14], Andrew [age 12],
John, James, self, Robert, and Tom (infant ) -- eleven of us. Of
the Darlings there were Mr. and Mrs. Darling, Jeannie, James, Lizzie, Robert,
Mary -- seven of that family. Eighteen all told, so we were a fair
company.
These, then with all
our household stuff, were taken across the bay in Mr. Adam’s lighter ‘The
Queen’. Our heavier stuff was stored at McAndrew and Reynolds and,
in due time was shipped to the Clutha.
Needless to say, here,
that life at Goat Hill was simply ideal for us youngsters -- there were
always some lessons, but no school, and we had the freedom and run of the
bush. Fuchsia berries and brambles, which were the largest I have
ever seen, of the native sort and as large as the imported, and much sweeter,
and of a beautiful rich russet colour, almost burnt sienna, in appearance.
I remember I thought a lot of these berries and enjoyed them. There
was a fair-sized garden with plenty vegetables and small fruit and, in
time, as many gooseberries as we could eat. With other comforts,
it was pretty nearly heaven.
The outstanding event
at Goat Hill was the birth of Ellis Darling, raising their number to eight.
While there, Father, Mr. Darling, Andrew, and sometimes Aggie, went
to harvest work at McAndrew’s, walking morning and evening which made a
long day for them. It was earning something, besides getting experience
of farm work, as they were grocers by business and had much to learn, although
both Father and Mr. Darling had a good knowledge of stock. Father
was a good judge of horses, none better.
They also knew about cows. So on this part they were well forward,
which was well for them afterwards.
My father was always
a sociable being and had the faculty of conversation and discussion.
He was well read and informed and had quite a faculty of getting into intimate
relations with superior or well-informed class. So, although only
a worker, Mr. McAndrew and he became very intimate and friendly -- a friendship
that lasted until death. Probably no one knew better than Mr. McAndrew
the general nature and prospects of Otago, at that time north and south,
which meant all south of Canterbury. He discussed every detail with
father -- where he should go and what he should do -- into which discussions
Mr. Darling was eventually included until definite plans were formed .
The
Clutha was always, to Mr. McAndrew, the garden of Otago. He considered
the capital settlement should have been there, in which many respects he
was quite right. Only Otago then had the best harbor in New Zealand for
all weathers, in which docking could be done at all time, so Port Chalmers
decided the capital. But for that, the Clutha would have been selected.
Naturally then, Mr. McAndrew advised seeing the Clutha, and being aquainted,
more or less, with all in the district, he gave them a good kind of introduction
to the whole of it. First there were Smiths, as good as a home to
call on for a start. Then there were Pillans, Fergusons, Maitlands, Willcocks,
and Andersons, all Edinburgh folk. These would all make them welcome
and help. Then there were McNiels at the
ferry, as Balclutha was called, and then
in the south Molyneux there were the Hays, Beggs, and Lewises, so it will
be seen that Mr. McAndrew had mapped out quite a tour for Father and Mr.
Darling’s inspection.
Accordingly, after harvest
was cut, they duly started for Clutha, going south in Jock Graham’s trap;
he was the mailman and light carrier in those days. I think they
went right through to the ferry and it took them almost two days.
The middle stage being Tokomairiro, as Milton was then called. James
Smith’s afterwards of Greenfield, being the accommodation house there,
as the McNiels were at the ferry.
The one outstanding
virtue at the time was that travelers or callers were treated like guests
and friends and generally the oftener the calls, the closer the friendship.
With very few exceptions, this was the case, and is really one of the main
causes of the success of the early settlers. “Good will” played a
very large part besides increasing the happiness and enjoyment of all concerned.
As man really enjoys nothing as much as man’s security and fellowship,
so the lonely settler enjoyed the advent of a caller, and if a congenial
companion, so much the better.
That must have been a trip
of real adventure in those days. I have often followed them in imagination,
and would like to know how they felt about it sometimes, because it was
really a big contract they were facing, as we shall see.
I am not quite certain
about their route from the ferry, whether they went down to the Warepa
side first, or the other side of the Inchclutha, but I think that Willocks,
the carpenter as he was called on the Inchclutha, was about the first person
they met. Being Edinburgh folk, they were made at home and began
a lifelong friendship between families. Anderson, also being a “townie,”
was called upon. But the first, was the real friendly spot
at all times.
Their next point was the Smith
brothers on the mainland, just below where Stirling
now is. Although they were from Aberdeen, they were townies of McAndrews
and here they had another welcome, again beginning a lifelong friendship,
cemented by much kindness on both sides. The Smiths became their headquarters
from which they worked the district.
They duly called upon the Maitlands at the Cresent
farm, then crossed the river to the Pillians and the Fergusons. These being
Edinburgh folk, they were naturally at home. In Mr. Maitland’s home, my
father met an old Edinburgh acquaintance and in Mr. Pillian’s he met one
whose people he knew, so they were in a friendly atmosphere.
They then called on
Mr.W. Moseley further down the island of Inchclutha, but so far they had
no success, as far as land was concerned -- nothing they had seen just
satisfied them. All the best land seemed to be taken up. They were
advised to have a look at the coast, now called Wangaloa. At that time,
no one was settled there, or had taken up land there.
I think their next stay was
at Davidson’s, now Gask Farm. I am not sure if they stayed all night with
them, but as Davidson knew the ground, he piloted them to Lovell, who had
moved from what is called Lovells Flat to the corner of the Kaitangata
bush. He was what was then known as a squatter, that is a lease-hold
instead of a buyer. From Mr. Lovell and his Maori shepherds, they
got the particulars of the coast and such directions as could be given.
One of the shepherds showed them the ridge leading over to the sea.
Here they started out, actually pretty well on their own, into the unknown,
as the only tracks were sheep and wild pig tracks. There were no
cattle and all the country they had to pass through was covered, more or
less, with rank flax, tutu, and fern. It took good nerve to face
it as they had really nothing to guide them by and they had had no experience
of such conditions of traveling. They got to the coast alright and traveled
along the coast towards Coal Point.
I think the idea of
their directions was that they would go along the coast, past the end of
the Kaitangata bush, make over to the river, and follow the river up towards
Lavells, from where they had started in the morning. A good walk
even under present conditions, but next to impossible under the conditions
they met.
As far as following out the
correct directions was concerned, they were all right. Only in crossing
the hills at the bottom of the south end of Kaitangata, they met a rank
of growth of tutu and fern that was next to impossible to get through,
even in daylight. But before they reached the crest of the ridge,
darkness had set in and how to keep the direction amongst growth was their
trouble. They had only a piece in their pocket for food so, needless
to say, they were hungry, but they were also about dead-beat, so they at
least got a good rest and, I have no doubt, discussed the situation.
After their rest, they
made another trial, or at least a survey of their surroundings. They were
able to make out the river; then they saw a light well to their south-west,
they thought on the other side of the river, and decided to make a bee-line
for it. This even in the present conditions, would not be an easy
matter, but through the rough stuff they had to force their way. It must
have been a battle royal, and nothing but pure grit would have mastered
it, but they did, and gained the river bank opposite the light. My father
had mastered the colonial signal known as “coo-ee” and having
a rare tenor voice, he soon made himself
heard with a real genuine “coo-ee.”
They were now in front
of what is known as Willie Mitchells’, but he was not at home and his wife
was alone. Fortunately, there were some of the Maoris camped fishing not
far off, so she got one of them, old Rakiraki, after much persuading, to
face the darkness (Maoris, at that time, did not move after dark).
However, she managed it with the result that they got them across.
Then something very remarkable happened. What was my father’s surprise
when he came into the light to hear himself addressed “Mr. Smaill! Where
have you come from!” Then he recognized who Mrs. Mitchell was and said,
“Katie Forster! How are you here?” She had been one of his daily
customers, for Father was a grocer in Edinburgh.
Needless to say it was a great meeting, as they knew each other so well,
and had much to ask about. My father used to say it was one of the most
remarkable events of his life and always regarded it as the guiding hand
of God, which of course it was, but so are all our steps if we take notice
-- only there are times, we are forced to notice. They might have
seen the same hand in the kindness that had been their lot all through.
Next day, Willie Mitchell
turned up. He had been to the ferry to get provisions, fully nine miles
as the road was then, walking and carrying what he could, such were the
conditions.
The most important part
of all was that they met here the definite hope of land. Mr. Mitchell
told them that there were two hundred acres
that would just suit them and more if they wanted it afterwards.
This was the first real hope they had met; then all was plain sailing.
They were soon on the land, got the number of the section pegs and, as
they had maps, got the section located. The two sections were together,
so Mr. Darling and Father drew lots for ownership, with the result that
Mr. Darling drew the section with the Maori whare on it and a certain amount
of clearing. Father, of course, got the other one. I remember us youngsters
thought it a piece of hard luck, as acre for acre the other was much the
more valuable in many ways at the time, but I never once heard Father make
the least reference to his bad luck. He took his section as if it were
the best, although Mr. Darling’s complacent satisfaction made it rather
hard to bear. However, the land was secured. I think Mr. Ferguson
had something to do in the matter. I know he was the only surveyor
in the district but, at any rate, they came directly back, made their application
and got possession.
Thus the first and most
important part of business was finished. Our future home was fixed.
The next point was getting us there. As there were certain things
to be arranged, both Father and Mr. Darling went back and this time Andrew
went with them. However, before they went, they had to get the baggage
and provisions for a time on board the vessel on the Clutha trade. The
‘spec’ which was in charge of Captain Simpson (this was the opening of
another friendship) was a very vital link in those days. All the stuff,
fortunately, could be landed right on the spot, although storing it was
another matter. The vessel at that time, was a God-send as the bullock
dray was the only other transport and by it the family had to travel. The
stuff was duly sent and the three left again for the Clutha, now the land
of promise.
Mr. Darling was not
long away, as his business was mostly to make arrangements for the different
stages. The first stage was from Dunedin to Scroggs Creek by bullock
dray. That was the general outline of the programme, but it did not work
out just to schedule time.
I do not remember what day
we left, but I think it must have been Monday, but whatever day it
was, I remember it was a long, long day. We were all
astir very early and bedding packed up and every thing ready for the bullock
dray. That was to take us to meet the boat at Scroggs Creek.
The first hitch in the day was the dray was late. It was well on
in the day before it turned up and before it was loaded up and ready for
the road; it was past mid-day when we finally got away.
Just let us look at
the party thus starting on a sixty-mile
journey. To begin at the oldest-- there
were Grandmother and Aunt Fanny, the two mothers with two infants, Mr.
Darling, Jeannie Darling, and Aggie, the two James, Lizzie Darling and
I, the two Bobs, Mary Darling and Jack -- seventeen all told. As
our bedding was in constant use, and would be needed on the way, it had
to go with us, also goods and sundry other things, so by the time it was
all on the dray, it was well packed. Fourteen persons, without the
driver ‘Goodall’, to be packed on top was rather a problem, that I may
say was seldom carried out, a good proportion having to walk.
All would have been
right had we been away four hours sooner. But as the day was
fine, we all started in good spirits. I may say that my special care
was a yellow collie pup that the Beggs of Anderson’s Bay had given me.
I thought no end of her, as she was my charge.
We got a start, but
the dray road from Anderson’s Bay, at the time, was a very round business.
At the south of the harbor there were two creeks which were bridged with
a foot bridge and, in line with the bridges, was a narrow foot path raised
above the tide level. There are still some marks of it. This path
was fairly straight and the bridges divided the paths into about equal
portions, but the creeks spread outwards and went fairly well out.
As there was no short cut
through towards Caversham, the drays had to come right to the south end
of the town to gain the ridge up towards Saddle Hill; then it was all flax
and tussock. So it was well into the afternoon when we were making up towards
Look-out Point and I remember at several points Mr. Darling had to hang
onto the high side of the dray to keep it safe. I remember Grandmother
remarking that if it went over she would be undermost. All of us
youngsters that possibly could were walking. As it was March, darkness
was settling down on us while we were still a long, long way from Scroggs
Creek where we were to meet the boat to take us on to Antone Joseph’s near
Waihola ferry.
The hope of reaching
that object had to be given up. But where could we camp?
For the nights were cold and frosty and there were two infants to take
care of as well as their mothers. Goodall said there was one place we could
make, but he was doubtful of our welcome. So after a long weary trail in
the dark, we came to a steading [homestead], with a house and a large barn
and other buildings, into the yard of which we turned. Mr. Darling
went to see what could be done. It is very unpleasant to record unkindness
at any time, but it was so unusual, otherwise, I would not have recorded
it. I will not name the folks, but their unkindness, especially the
woman, was about the limit. The first answer was a curt ‘No’!
But Mr. Darling would not take it; they had to consider. Finally,
leave was given to spread our beds in the barn loft, but nothing to eat.
We took our boots off, but I think that was all and we youngsters were
soon fast asleep, as we were properly tired. Later about ten p.m.,
they felt a little remorse, and sent word there was tea if we wanted it.
As Mr. and Mrs. Darling and Mother were the only ones out of bed and as
the mothers needed something, they went and had some, but it was not a
cheerful meal by any means. However, as they would need to pay for
it, they arranged to get something in the way of breakfast, which I think,
as far as we youngsters were concerned, was some milk. We had bread
with us. It was not a heavy meal. I am happy to say that was the
last of that sort of thing we were to see for many long years. These
good people were not acclimatized. I have no doubt time would have
put them right.
Fortunately it was a
beautiful morning and our spirits were up and we took to the road quite
cheerily. Mr. Darling had settled up the night before and had left
at daylight for Antone Joseph’s to get the boat that was at Scroggs Creek
for us the night before. No wonder the bullock driver drew in the
night before for, although we made an early start, it was nearly mid-day
before we reached the meeting place, where, happily, the boat was just
showing up.
Now we were to experience
a long period of kindness and welcome, much more pronounced and positive
than the other had been negative. Provisions were sent in the boat
for us, as it would be well on in the day before we reached the homestead,
which we eventually did about three p.m., where we found a beautiful spread
and a kind but, I regret to say, a sorrowful welcome awaiting for us, as
the family that week had been stricken with a sore bereavement. I
am not sure but I think it was their first and only child had been drowned
in the river before their door. No wonder the mother could not bear
to meet us children, but everything that kindness could suggest was done
for our comfort and enjoyment. Later in the evening, she met the
old folk and with them came to see us tucked comfortably in bed.
Thus ended a most adventurous day, a day I will always remember as one
of the brightest and full of thrills.
It was really our first boat
voyage of the kind. True, we had been in boats before, but there
was always something of the sea about them. This was a beautiful
river, with beautiful banks on either side, with one new wonder each mile,
and the motion was so delightful after the dray and the weary walk.
That sail was one continual
and perfect delight. The river was pure and clear, but not quite as clear
as the Clutha. It was over ten years before I was able to see the
same river again and I could hardly recognize it as the same. The diggings
had polluted it and the changes were not in the line of beautifying, as
is mostly the case where man goes.
Here we saw native
bush, quite different from the Dunedin bush, where nearly all the heavy
timber had been cut. Here was the three kinds of pines, red, white and
black, totara, kamahi, and ribbonwood, besides what to us children was
heaven: an endless amount of fuchsia berries.
Then we saw a real Maori
encampment. It was not a “pah.” It was more of a village with their plantations.
There was quite a lot of them and they seemed to think a lot of us youngsters.
It was really our first meeting with the Maoris and it was well that it
was under such happy conditions, as we were to meet the Maoris very intimately
on reaching Inchclutha, as our first home was to be a Maori whare.
So as I have said, it was a day of thrills.
Next day was to be a
still more beautiful voyage to the Tokomairiro end of Lake Waihola. As
the day was perfect, and we had the good luck to get a nice, light, fair
wind, the boat was able to sail over most of the lake making good time.
We arrived before the bullock dray from Mr. James Smith’s, afterwards of
Greenfield, driven by Mr. William Martin, one of a family well known in
Tokomairiro.
We got on the dray about
mid-afternoon and arrived in what is now Milton just after dark, but as
everything was ready for us, we were not long in being fed and made comfortable
for the night in Mr. Smith’s barn.
The only special thing
I remember of the next morning is that it was a hard frost -- the first
of the kind we had seen in New Zealand, not far behind old Edinburgh for
sharpness. This, our last stage of the Clutha voyage, was to be a notable
one and each day had its own particular character and destination.
The first was definitely unpleasent. The second one, we reached the climax
of kindness and consideration, but the third was the brightest of all --
the kindly feeling went with us all the way. Our stay was comfortable and
there was something of a forlorn feeling in facing this last stage. As
from the end of Tokomairiro plain until we reached the Clutha, there was
no habitation of any kind, so it was twenty good miles into the unknown
for most of us.
As I have said, the
bullock dray was our conveyance, but it is hard work putting eighteen,
at any time, into a bullock dray, the more so when filled with bedding
and baggage, so we had developed quite a walking contingent.
This morning, Grandmother
and Aunt Fannie started out with the young folk and for awhile all went
well. The dray was much longer in following than any of us expected.
In those days the bullocks were just turned out and, as they had the whole
range of the plain for a paddock, in the morning two, at least, out of
the eight were missing. It was well on the afternoon before the dray
started, with the result that as the day got warmer, the younger ones wanted
to sit down and rest until, at least, we could see the dray coming, which
we thought we did several times, but still the dray was not showing up.
Grandmother and Auntie, while they sat down at first, did not join us in
waiting but kept on walking, with the result that when the dray did
come up to us, we had quite lost sight of them. Here was a pickle.
As Martin said, we had to find them before we took the hills, as there
was nothing between us and the Clutha. We could see no one ahead.
We were then well out beyond Clarkville, but nearer Fairfax side of the
plain then the road, we ultimately took. Some figures could be seen
walking or moving, we could not say in what direction, away out towards
the Glenore side of the plain. Could that possibly be them?
Just at this juncture, a horseman overtook us. Mr. Trimble of Warepa
(Mr. Darling and Father had met him) and Mr. Darling told him our trouble.
He let Martin have his horse, as he knew the ground and he would soon see
who the figures were.
So off Martin went and
was soon seen riding back, as it was not them. Now what was to be
done? Martin said we could not possibly stay any longer, or we would
not make the Clutha that night. I remember it was with a heavy heart
that Mother agreed to go on, trusting for the best. Mr. Tremble said
he would push on and keep a sharp look-out for them, and if he overtook
them, tell them to wait for the dray, as we were anxious about them.
With that we moved on again, but very much like a funeral, as we felt we
were leaving two of our number behind us. Personally I was in grief.
I was always fond of dogs and the pup, which was my charge, had been tied
up at the dray and was to come on with the dray but someone shifted her,
with the result that she was left behind. I am afraid I shed tears rather
freely. Yes, this was so far a black day.
Well, we passed out
of the plain and were near the crest of the hill where we lost sight of
the plain and, as we neared the crest, our hopes were failing fast when
Presto! Right on the crest were two figures sitting. Soon we
made out they were women and then there was a shouting and hurrahing.
Mr. Trimble had overtaken them and told them to sit and wait, as they might
lose their way. So they, very much against their will, waited, which
was a mercy, as the track was none too easy to follow.
Now we passed on as fast as
we could. We made Lovells Flat at dinner time, or to be correct,
a drinking place for the bullocks at Lovells Creek. Here they met
two horsemen, also having their bite, and watering their horses. They were
going to town. Trimble had told them about the plight he that had left
us in, so they were quite interested and pleased to see us all together
again.
Here, I first saw what
was to us a wonderful drinking device, known as a Maori cup made of flax.
One of these gentlemen made one, used it, and left it lying behind him.
I remember getting it, examining it closely, taking it down and putting
it up again until I could make one. I can see the whole thing as plainly
as if it were yesterday.
On we went again, but further
than I remember. It was a long weary trail and there was nothing worthy
of note. We reached the top of the hill known as the cabbage tree
that marked the junction of the track -- the one leading on to the ferry,
the other to Inchclutha—now Stirling
– and here we got the first view of the Clutha valley, always a most beautiful
view, but then we thought it perfectly lovely, as all the bends of the
river were so clearly seen. I remember some
of the bends looked like circles and,
for many a day, I believed they were. The sun must have been pretty
low, as the river was gleaming with reflected light and I know it was dark
when we reached the riverbank just about where the bridge is now.
I remember it was light enough to see the swirling of the current, something
I had never seen before. Although the distance from the bridge to
William Smith’s house does not seem any great distance, I remember to us
youngsters trudging along in the growing darkness, it seemed a long weary
road and I think the team were of the same mind.
If the road was weary,
the welcome soon made us forget everything but the present gladness, as
we were fairly overwhelmed with kindness. Everyone seemed to try
to out-do the other in getting us made comfortable, but I think Mr. Smith
was an easy first, as was his way as long as I knew him. I am thankful
to say that I had the good fortune to enjoy many more expressions of his
unfailing and habitual kindness. There was a goodly number present,
as they were harvesting. I am not sure who was all there, but besides
the three brothers Smith, there were Mr. W. Aitcheson, Mr. James Wright,
and Mr. Thomas Marsh. The last three were staying at Mr. F. S. Pillan’s,
Inchclutha. As it had been arranged that part of our party were to
lodge at the Myers, Mr. Pillan’s place, after tea Mr. Darling, my brother
James and myself were duly shifted into Smiths’, or I believe it must have
been Pillan’s boat , because we walked across the bend to the boat and
down the river from there. Mr. Wright, Mr. Aitchenson and Mr. Marsh went
with us. We were not long in being snugly fed and in bed, so ended the
fourth day’s journey.
My time was taken up
in those days watching felling and clearing of the bush, splitting up the
broadleaf and burning them in immense fires -- timber that in a few years
would have been a small fortune for house building as no better can be
found for piles. In the evening my father would read aloud Shakespear
or “ Palmyra”. My father was one of the best readers that I have
ever listened to. Sam, who was greatly interested, used to say “Now
then Mr. Johnston, give us a bit more of Zenobe.” My father was better
at that sort of thing than at the arduous labor attached to colonizing.
He cleared a garden for potatoes and planted them in neatly made rows --
a patch, perhaps one chain by two -- but as he did not fell the bush about
it to let the sun in, the tops grew to six feet high and of course there
was nothing at the root. Had the trees been cut down, we should have
had a splendid crop, as the peninsular as it was called, was famed for
its potatoes.
Our only boat was the
flat bottomed one that I have mentioned before and in this, my father,
Whittle and Sam Perry (Percy) made trips to Koputi and up to Dunedin.
I wonder it did not prove a coffin for them all, as none except perhaps
Whittle knew anything about handling a boat. On a calm morning my
father used to give us lessons in sculling, in which I soon became expert,
but my first experience with boating was with Captain Riddley as he crossed
the harbour in his small, but safe dinghy. He was a daring boatman
and crossed in all weather.
Many a time, I was kept
bailing all the way. Poor Captain Riddley was caught at last many
years after this coming from Dunedin with one of his small sons.
One of those sudden southwest gales struck them between the islands. Their
boat was swamped and they were drowned.
Much of my time was
spent sculling about on quiet days in our lovely little bay and at low
water gathering pippies, which were plentiful and very nice when no meat
could be had and fish scarce. Many are the hardships we went through
in those days. For the whole year I went barefoot, and this in the bush
and around the rocks at low tide. Our only road was anything but
pleasant. Yet in spite of all this there was a charm about those
days that never returned. No doubt at times it must have been monotonous
enough for my mother, but having one lady neighbor, it was not so bad as
some who had no one at all. Then we had visitors every now and then
- Maoris with fish or boats from Koputii.
One of these I remember well
-- a whale boat with the two hands pulling and a gentleman at the steer
oar. It was a Mr. W. A. Mansford who had become acquainted with my
father when we landed from the ship. He arrived in the “Victory”
four months before we came. He had a store and dwelling in what is known
as Mansford Bay. He bartered with the natives giving goods, stores,
tobacco, tools, and blankets in exchange for pork and potatoes. I did not
know how intimate my connection with the Mansford family would shortly
be, but it came about this way. My father,
as I mentioned, was not strong. He had
about this time gone up to Dunedin and as they were windbound had to stay
all night, sleeping under an upturned boat. The result was a severe cold,
which brought on other troubles. Heart disease developed and from that
time, he grew gradually worse and quite unfit for any hard work and his
means were very limited. We were soon in straitened circumstances.
Mr. Mansford saw how matters stood and that my father required medical
attention. He most kindly insisted on our coming over and living
in the meantime with them, so my father accepted his kind offer of hospitality.
Mrs. Mansford who was one of the kindest souls, received us most cordially
and did everything in her power to make my parents feel at home.
For some time my father improved in health and was able to do some clerical
work in Port Chalmers. Mr. and Mrs. Mansford’s home and store were
built on a
loop about three miles, which at the narrowest part is not over three hundred
yards. Just around this loop, we came to Mayfield
bend [now Stirling], one of the most
beautiful bends in the river, viewed from any angle or direction; and then
in full view of the Kaitangata hill,
covered every inch with beautiful bush -- a sight the eye never tired looking
at. As we rounded the corner, we met this lovely sight above and
reflected in the water, as it was a perfect day. This was a welcome
we all enjoyed. Ten minutes more, we were around the bend at Darling’s
place where the Maori whare, which was to be our home, was waiting for
us.
Father and Andrew had
everything ready for our dinner. It was about two o’ clock but that did
not matter. Father had been making, I forget whether it was a loaf or a
scone. I know there was great rejoicing all around, as we scrambled
ashore, and there was not much order in our doing. Us youngsters
were just beside ourselves as we flew around and yelled. Whatever
was needed we got out of the boat right away and then there was the feed.
They had rigged quite a long table in the hut, which would measure about
eighteen by twelve, not much room for twenty-one, counting the two infants.
It was a great meal and very merry, but, as the boat had a long return
journey upstream, there was a hurry to get them away. Everything,
where a little extra strength was needed to make things comfortable, was
done before they left. It was really not long before the boat was
back again, I forget for what, but it was helping someone, or with stores.
Our first night in the
whare was one to be remembered. We were all together again and all well
and happy. There had been worries, but no accidents, and before it
was too late, there was what had been every night since the two families
had a home together-- family worship -- and it was well worthy of its name.
My
father was always fond of music, sacred music most of all,
and some of the psalms, with their grand old tunes, were his special delight.
Jeannie Darling had something of a kindred spirit and a good clear voice.
Andrew, also, had a voice above the usual, while Aggie was quite good,
although her voice was not so pronounced. Auntie Fanny, once the tune had
started and one she knew, had a clear, if somewhat shrill voice of that
quality peculiarly suited to the minor keys. When the psalm was started
that night, it went with a vim and swing that was the beginning of a long
series of singing bees. This, I believe, brought and held the families
together more than anything else. Everything seemed to straighten
out here. Father led the singing; Mr. Darling read the chapter and
Father led in prayer. It is singular that, althoughFather was a confirmed
stutterer, his prayers were, as far as I remember, always free and clear
of any defect. Thus was started an institution that first night that
has kept up as long as Father and Mr. Darling were alive. All the
rejoicings and family reunions were always closed with a combined family
worship, however short, but it was always warm and appreciated by all.
As I have
said, singing in the evenings, when reading and talking was next to impossible,
became quite a feature, and Father, Jeannie, and Andrew were quite a trio
that was to go far in the days to come. So much for our first night--what
of the next day and the days following?
About the
first thing, so far as I remember, was pigeon shooting, as pigeons were
very plentiful and quite new. Mr. Darling had a very fine fowling piece,
in fact, one of the finest. Nothing of the kind is seen nowadays.
A double barrel that threw its charge of shot so close that sixty yards
was quite an easy range for it, a good twenty yards over the average. Father,
on the other hand, had never thought of a gun, as he had never used one.
So he bought one from Mr. Douglas on the ship, the only one available,
a flint lock of the blunder-buss type and quite true to type, it would
scatter a charge of shot fifteen feet widest forty yards, so there was
little chance of actually missing, but equally little chance of killing.
The difference between Mr. Darling's bags and Father's was evident, but
the guns did not get all the credit. However, between them, we had always
plenty to keep us going until we got beef.
Milk, we
had none, and this was the really first thing to attend to. Something in
the nature of a stock yard had to be fixed, as a corner in the bush was
cleared, trees being used for posts as far as possible, and whatever would
make rails tied onto these trees. As far as possible, extra posts
being put in where needed.
A yard of four panelled
square was fixed up, being pretty well scrubbed all around, which was all
right for quiet cattle. Behind it was fixed up a calf-pen, as calves
sucked their mothers in those days and had to be shut up at nights. Cows
had been bought before this, but were left until ready. Mr. Darling
had only bought one cow
from Mr. Willocks, a big dun coloured cow, Jean, a real good milker and
very quiet. Father had bought four cows from Mr. John Shephard, then
in Dunedin, (jailer-in-chief ), but his cattle were running at Moseley's
who looked after them on terms. Father was to pick the cows he wanted,
which seemed alright. Three were alright, good and quiet, but one, or rather
two were heifers, unbroken, and Father, being used to home cows when he
was a boy, did not understand the difference. I think there were two cows
in milk, Finny and Fanny, but they had been milking some considerable time.
One of the heifers was just coming in, and she had a young calf when brought
down, but she was decidedly wild, although a good milker. She could
both run and rush and was not slow at either. However, she got her calf
taken from her and penned up. As far as I remember the others had no calves
so hers was the only one. She was put into the bail after much trouble
and her behaviour, all around, was not good. The cows were turned into
what was called the balloon, which was a lop of the river bend and, as
we were right on the neck of the balloon, cattle, unless very determined,
would pass, but if they did, could easily be seen.
The heifer,
Mary, returned to her calf after dark and set up great roaring. Mother,
being troubled with the mother instinct, thought the poor beast needed
comforting and so, with very scant covering, made her way out towards the
poor beast to pacify her with sympathy, as it was all she had to give her.
She got near enough to let her hear “Sh, Mary,” said softly, when like
a flash, Mary made a rush at her. Mother never knew what kept her from
getting her, as mother got such a shock she was unable to move, not even
to faint, but as she was still alive, she gradually crawled to cover and,
tremblingly, got back to the hut and to bed much shaken, but thankful to
be alive.
That was the end
of that sort of thing for Mother. That cow was a lot of trouble for a while,
though afterwards a good milker, but always troublesome when she came in.
So much for cow trouble.
The next
big job was house building. What sort of house would they build?
There was not much choice -- to build a frame home was beyond their means;
besides, such houses are cold unless properly lined and papered.
Clay houses were warm, but clay on Inchclutha was scarce; besides, what
was known of the wattle and daub building was not attractive, but something
of the sort might do for chimneys. All was duly discussed. It was decided
to build the Darlings' house first, as it was thought it would be more
quickly built and thus get more room. All the same, it meant a long weary
job before Mayfield house would be ready for use and weary traveling up
and down. It was decided that Darlings' house would be weather-boarded
in front, eighteen feet high, twenty-four feet long and, I think, twelve
feet wide, with arrangements for a lean-to being added as early as possible.
In the meantime,
something had been going on. Across the river was Mr. Davidson’s place,
what is now the “Gask.” He was living in a hut at that time. He was
a relation of the Maitlands and was something of a cattle squatter along
with them, although Maitlands had also a sheep run up the river.
He was going to get married and was going to get timber sawn in his bush.
Men would be starting on this at once, and Aitchenson and Bob Mercer were
the first two to start on this job; although William Mitchell, also helped
in turn, also Mr. Darling and Father.
They worked
some how, some doing farm work. As the logs suited, they were put
aside for timber, and saplings were cut in the Kaitangata bush for the
framework of Darlings' house. These were put into position and the
three walls were started and built with clay, something of the wattle and
daub style. Mr. Barker and W. Mitchell were both on the job, so it
was not
really long before enough of the home was fit
to move into, thus relieving the congestion in the whare. I am not
sure which part was ready first , but I think it was the upstairs part.
This reminds me that the roof was thatched with broad grass.
There was
a big patch of broad grass just on the bend below Mayfield and cutting,
tying, and carrying grass was a job for all hands. I only remember seeing
one other solid patch of such grass, and that was in the Clinton Valley.
It was wretched stuff to plow and harrow and had to be shaken out
like couch, but much heavier roots. It was mostly valuable grass for cattle
feed if burned off in the fall, in fact as soon as the cattle stopped eating
it. It was not long before a fire was possible and it began to spring
right away. From this you will see that all hands were busy every
minute from morning until night. I do not know the date when the Darlings
got finally into their new home, but I know we were getting well into the
frosty mornings. I expect it was into May. However, several things may
be noted during this time.
I think
the first thing to note was the first trip
to church, which
was at the head of the island and the winding nature of the track made
it fully ten miles, but as walking could not be free, it took some time.
It took a good four hours! Rev. W. Bannermann was the minister
in charge of Otago, all south of Waihola. Service was sometimes four
weeks, sometimes six weeks, but at the time, as far as the Low was concerned,
no one attended. Father and Mr. Darling were the first from our end
and that first day was a great day.
I
remember they got away pretty early and, as they attended church
in Dunedin in their Edinburgh clothes, it was only fitting that they
should do the same here. So they set out in best blacks and bell-toppers.
The result was somewhat startling. Below Mosley's Bush, the flax,
tutu, and fern was too rank for cattle, so cattle take [no] notice, but
above that the land was comparatively clear, so cattle could see anyone
passing and they generally take notice of strangers. The apparition they
saw that day was something unknown, with the result that they stampeded
in all directions. If the cattle stampeded, the effect on the people in
church, especially the youngsters, was just about as pronounced.
Needless to say, that was the last appearance of these suits at church,
but by no means the last with the youngsters, as in after-days when any
make up [costume] was needed in our many family gatherings, part of them,
at least, was sure to appear. The history of such appearances would be
quite interesting and one which I may come to.
At present,
I must follow the serious side. That, as I have said, was the first of
our church attendances, the beginning of a lifelong habit in the Clutha
that was to keep on growing.
Next Sunday
service saw Jeannie Darling, Aggie and Andrew added to the number, until
the two James, Lizzie Darling, and I were added to the number. Ultimately,
Mother and Mrs. Darling did it but, as it was a good ten miles, it meant
a twenty-mile walk-- still it was taken cheerfully.
Here
I must mention one of the chief items as far as we youngsters were concerned.
I have mentioned the Willocks. Their place was within a mile of the
church and it was simply a glorious rest house on the way. The best of
cheer and plenty to eat and drink, and dinner to come back to after church,
and, as James and Janet Willocks were about our age, we were soon all fast
and life-long friends and many happy times we had together. So with
this added attraction, the long walk was not really much considered by
us youngsters, until it was quite a common thing for some of us to go up
during the week and come home on Sunday, or stay on Sunday and come back
through the week. Our mothers also did this, but not so often as
we. This was quite a common habit in those days and I forged strong
and lasting relationships.
So
much for that side of life, now I must notice the other side-- that is
our daily round. Shops and stores were none, except at the ferry.
Some things could be got there, but mostly liquor. Bowler and Davies, at
the top of the island, kept a limited store which they increased as things
grew, but nearly everything had to come from Dunedin. The staple
needs of life were bread, potatoes, milk, meat of some sort, tea and sugar.
The bread was in the form of wheat which had to be ground by the hand steel
mill and baked every day. The baking was the old leaven style and
had to be set every night and made up the next morning and fired in the
camp oven.
We
got our first wheat from the Smiths and, I think, also our potatoes.
Wheat, potatoes and vegetables were the necessities of life, and everyone
grew them for their own use with some to sell, if possible. The wheat
was handled in a most primitive way, thrashed, mostly by what was called
scutching. A sheet was spread, a block of wood, a tub or any such like
thing was placed on it, and the wheat taken in handfuls and the heads knocked
against the block until all the wheat was out, then another handful until
there was enough. Generally about a bushel, which was a stook, twelve sheaves.
This
was then gathered up and cleaned, either by wind or the bellows, but the
cleaning was always a more serious job than the thrashing. From this,
it will be seen what a long line of small jobs were always on hand.
The
town transport was very intermittent and depended on a lot of things. There
was only one vessel on the run, “The Speck” sailed and owned, I think,
by Captain Simpson, as fine a man as ever walked, but at the time unknown
to us. He went to all places that, like the Clutha, had bar harbours; he
could only get in or out as the wind and tide suited . Sometime the visits
might be fairly close, that is a month or six weeks, sometimes it went
six months. The stuff had to be ordered in town, and they were by no means
particular to catch the boat, which was of course by no means easy, as
there was no way of giving notice and coming and going was just as uncertain
and erratic as all other conditions. In fact both Father and
Mr. Darling soon decided to send direct to Edinburgh for what was called
a “box” which was sent for every year for many years, and was quite a boon
to many besides ourselves. Captain Simpson gradually began to be
known, which largely changed everything. And he became a kind of general
carrier. He would get everything man, woman, or child wanted and
bring it with as much care as if that was the only thing he was doing.
This he was doing all around the coast. Certainly, it helped his
business and he was soon able to put on another vessel “The
Pioneer” and with the two vessels, matters
were largely improved. It was he who put an end to the steel mill
(grinding your own flour); he took the wheat to town, had it ground and
brought back as flour, bran, and pollard. At first it was a bag or
two, but ultimately, it would be eight or ten bags, which made a big difference
in many ways. So much for the general outline which will give some idea
of the daily conditions. Now I come to more specially family matters.
As
I have already said, the building of Darlings' house was the first thing
concentrated on, to get more house room as quickly as possible and it was
the wisest plan and the quickest way out. As the house drew near about
finish, fewer could be employed, and gradually changes were taking place.
We had to be looking towards getting our place underhand and there was
really much to do.
There was
a house to build, stock-yards to build, ground to be fenced in, cleared
and broken up, and sown for spring. Mother and Auntie Fanny were really
the first to tackle this big job, and they began with the grub hoes, or
rather a pair of carpenters adzes. They began at the
corner nearest the lodging, as natural. At the low corner of Mayfield,
there was a little bit of clear ground and they began grubbing [digging]
it up so that potatoes could be planted in what is called Maori heaps,
with three or four sets, and covered up, which was done as soon as there
was enough grubbed. That was the beginning of the chief industry
of one half of the family, the two already named, with James and myself.
Grandmother looked after the younger ones, Robert, John, and the infant
Tom.
Father, Aggie, and Andrew
were a gang of their own, and at this time were mostly at work in the Kaitangata
bush -- and a royal battle they put up. I really do not know of a better
record of work done anywhere and not without considerable risk. They first
cut, and carried out to the river, posts
and rails for a stock-yard, which is all
heavy stuff, and they were rarely nearer the river than two hundred yards
and often four or five hundred. They, it was, who boated down the
river, over a mile, in a three-quarter ton punt, the timber not only for
the stock-yard, but fencing for a fifteen acre paddock. The biggest job
of the lot was getting timber to build Mayfield house. As I have
said, it was decided that after Darlings' house was built, the timber for
ours would be sawn in the same way, but evidently Father saw defects in
this plan while helping to build the other, besides one of those unexpected
things happened.
Let
us look at what one man, a girl of fourteen, and a boy of twelve did. The
heavy totaras they took down and across cut into lengths was, in itself
a big record. While they were getting rails for the stock-yard, they
split a lot of totara rails into ten-foot lengths. Splitting is an art
of its own, and by no means an easy one, but the fascination of it had
grasped Father. They, for all three were in it, got such good results.
That was the first step. The next step was when they started to try how
near they could come to splitting a good board, which they managed beyond
all expectations. They got a slab ten feet long, fifteen inches wide and
between one and a half and two inches thick.
They
then tried more, and the tree was splitting so beautifully that they soon
had quite a lot of very fine ten-feet slabs, as good as sawn lumber and
Father saw that a house built with these would be much warmer and much
easier built, requiring very little framing.
Fired
with this new idea, they set to work with more ambition. They decided to
try eighteen inches wide and broke up their log for that size with marvelous
results. These slabs were the finest split work I have ever seen. They
did not say much about them until they were boated down, but I remember
when Mr. Darling saw them, he was very excited over them. He thought
they were splendid. He said he would dress them with the adze and
they would be better than boards. He was as good as his word and
he dressed those for the front of the house, especially, about as evenly
as if they had been planed. Needles to say, the three were very proud
of their work, as they had good cause to be, but as I have said, the getting
and transporting that stuff down to the foot of the road at Wright's corner
was a record that would take some beating.
One big
tree was especially a puzzle to everyone who saw it, to know how they managed
it. I will try to tell how. I will just tell what we saw.
That was the top of the totara, cut off just below the branches, about
three feet through. This top was actually standing on its head and
the saw cut between fifteen and twenty feet from the ground, a problem
that would puzzle most bushmen. I know they cut three lengths of
that tree. This timber had all to be carried to the bank of the river.
Now comes the crux of the whole matter. They had been advised to
raft it down the river, but even with another man to do half the work,
one on the raft and one on the shore, it would have been difficult, but
with two children it simply could not be done with safety; the biggest
objection was that there was no suitable landing for a raft. So the
small boat had to do it all, although they did raft some on either side
of the boat as a kind of safety, because Father was a whale to load down,
always to about three inches free board. Three were on board. Now
a punt loaded to that depth is positively dangerous, as the least bit of
a false move will make the flat bottom go off at a tangent, as it lacks
the buoyant resistance of a round bottomed boat, but the float on each
side did act as safety. Going downstream did not require much effort,
but going back, two went on shore with a line and tracked, the other one
steering.
They
racked up the island side, as there was a beach most of the way but the
tons of stuff they shifted was a caution. I remember Mr. W. Mitchell
and Mr. James Wright were the only ones who regarded the whole business
as out of the ordinary, they were unstinted in their appreciation simply
because they were the only ones who knew what it meant.
I
wish I had some record of the months and how they were passing for, besides
house-building, they were getting around ready for wheat and potatoes.
By this time, we had become possessed of two bullocks. Tom was Darling's;
Jerry was ours. A sledge was built and, whenever possible, they did
the hauling and ploughing.
Just here
a little bit of description will be helpful. As I have said, we were living
in a Maori whare (war-ee ). Well! to be accurate it was the whare
of Chief Tongata Houri, a real hard case in some ways. He was a man of
prodigious strength. He, with quite a number of other Maoris,
was living in what we called “Lovells,” as Lovell was a sheep squatter
on the Kaitangata hills. His nearest sheep owner was Popplelwell,
at Mount Misery. The Frazers, on the lakeside, formed a boundry between
Lovell and Davidson. Such were the conditions at that time.
On
Kemra Bank, there were two fair-sized clearings that the Maoris had cropped,
one just above where the stock-yard is now and the other about half-way
between the river and Wright's corner. They were the first owners.
There had been a bit of bush there at the time, as there was a lot of timber
on the ground, there was one solitary white pine tree, standing about the
middle of Darling's clearing and, for years, it was known as the tree paddock.
These clearings were ploughed up as soon as possible.
Mr. Darling was
a first-class swing ploughman and the ploughing and getting ready for the
sowing , was well forward, but getting it fenced in was not so easy.
Wire fences were unknown then and, when they did become known, they were
not thought much of for the cattle. Not until barb wire made its
appearance did fencing for cattle become a much simpler matter than the
old post and rail fence. Posts had to be bored for four rails, eight
augur holes in every post, and the rails sharpened and fitted. A big job
to enclose a fair sized paddock of ten or fifteen acres. And all fencing
had to come from Kaitangata bush, for which they paid a yearly license.
Since we
had arrived , and during the time I am describing, roughly within the first
six months there had been several visitors, outside of Maoris who came
almost daily as we seemed to appeal to their curiosity, but they were kindly
withall. We were surprised to see three men show up one morning with
some of the Maoris. They had come through the hills from
Tokomairiro and stayed at Lovells all night. These were three well-known
names in after years, viz, Michael Muir, William Carson and William
Hodge. They were on their way to Coal Point to open up the coal there.
Mr. Lewis of Port Molyneux was opening it up. I think he had
some arrangement with the government, but he also put a good deal of his
own money and time into it, which, I am sorry to say, was all lost as coal
was in no demand in those days, as steamers had not yet arrived in New
Zealand waters. These three men went on and camped, first at
William Mitchell’s place. Four men had left Tokomairiro [now known as Milton]
and went as far as the head plain when there was a difference of opinion
which was the best ridge to follow, the one known as the Devil's Bridge
and the Two Stone Hill which brought them right through. The other
decided to go over the slopes of Mount Misery. This was a fatal step,
for the poor fellow got completely lost in the gullies, and was starved
to death, as by the time he was missed and search set on foot, starvation
and fatigue had done its work. That death gave the name to Mount
Misery and Hungry Hill where he was found. I think that was the only death
of the kind in all the settlement, at least on our side.
Then some
of the Strathallan sailors turned up. The first was Willie Noble;
he had cleared out without waiting to put in hard labor, which meant little
to do and plenty to eat with the others, a fact I am inclined to think
he much regretted. He was given some work and stayed awhile, but
was not much of a success. Then later, Jack
Allan, with not less than notorious Jack
Duncan, the cook. Nothing could
be more marked than the welcome given these two. It was really a
case of the sheep and the goats. There was the prepared welcome for
the one and misery for the other. The Darlings had moved out of the
whare by this time and Mother was in charge. She certainly had not
forgotten Jack Duncan, as he had given her many a sore heart over getting
something warmed for her infant on the ship. She had told him that
she might have a chance to pay him back, but he only swore at her and told
her, if she was his own mother, he would do the same. All of
which she duly rubbed into noble Jack, with fitting additions, with
the result that he broke down, crying that everyone was against him.
To all of which mother reminded him of his own cruel doings, but, having
given him a dressing down, she would have lost the joy of it had she gone
further. She fed him, but told him to get.
Strange
that something the same happened at Gabriel's Gully, years after, with
Father, when food was so scarce. Father also dressed Jack down, but
when the rest wanted to turn him out hungry, Father would not hear of it,
he fed him and otherwise helped him.
This will
be the last appearance of Jack Duncan, but not so of Jack Allan.
Not many weeks after this he turned up with another sailor he had met doing
time and a name to be well known in these parts and, afterwards, a successful
farmer on Wangaloa. Jack Allan, on the other hand, got into a pretty
steady work with the old gaoler, John Shepherd. They become life-long
friends, that spoke well for the hearts of both. Jack settled down
to business of jobbing carpenter and house painter that, later, established
into a business. These were the only newcomers within the first year.
I do not know what month
it was when the Darlings got into their new house, but it must have been
well through the winter, because I know they were just in when Mr. Wright
came to stay with us, while he was doing ploughing
for us both. I have spoken of ploughing being done with our two bullocks,
but that ploughing really took place after this. Mr. James Wright
was working for the Pillans and I have already said that Father and he
had discovered that they were not only townies, but close neighbors, and
knew a lot of people in common and had become chummy. In fact the
friendship was one of those that had grown with the years, as I had discovered
long after Father's death. I was at Pillans with the threshing mill
when the old gentleman came to speak to me about my father. He told
me what good friends they had been and how much he thought of him, and
how he could always trust father in any pinch. I had known
they were friendly, but had no idea they thought so much of each other
until the old gentleman told me.
The
first act was sending Mr. Wright with a team of eight bullocks to break
up some ground for us both. While this was being done house building
and everything else, had to stand over. The great bulk of the land
at the time, was very hard to break up. Our two bullocks were added
to the eight as leaders, and it was all they could do, and often the ground
had to be cut with spade or adze in front of the plough. We were
often all out with whatever could cut, cutting cuts the width of the furrow
through the bad places. These were mostly tutu crowns and broad grass.
This last was really the worst, as it could not be cut. The ground
from which we had cut the broad grass to thatch Darling’s house was the
first to be ploughed, and a wild job it was. Andrew was chief bullock
driver, if Mr. Darling was not on the plough, but it was not unlike ordinary
ploughing that Mr. Wright nearly always had to take the plough.
Between
a quarter and a half acre was considered a good day’s work and the ploughing
was the least part of the business. Harrows were next to useless until
both spade and grub hoe had knocked the worst of the roots about.
I
have mentioned harrows, but as we understand them, they did not exist at
that time, wooden frames with iron tines or teeth were best going, although
iron harrows were to be had in the old country, but I think only in Scotland.
Mr. Ferguson, who was the most enterprising in the implement line, had
the first set of iron harrows in the district. He also was the first to
have a self delivery reaping machine when they came on the market, but
it was before its time, for Inchclutha crops were too long in the straw
for it to handle. On nice short stuff, it was all right, but all too soon,
it was on the scrap heap. He and Father were the implement men in
the district. To meet our need, Father set to work to make, I was going
to say a set of harrows, but he did better than that; he made his harrow
all in one piece. It was certainly heavier to clean, if it did get choked,
but its tearing power was much helped by its weight and wide timber teeth.
It did wonderful work for many a day until Father, being on a visit to
town and staying with a cousin Charles Smaill who had land at Tomahawk,
saw a set of harrows and plough that Mr. William Stuart had brought from
Scotland. Father gladly bought them, which gave him, easily, the
best set of harrows in the district. They were Grays of Alderstone, and
were the finest set of harrows around, better than any on the market at
present. The disc harrows have eclipsed the drag and put it second
place, so less attention is paid to their efficiency.
With
the breaking up of the ground and getting grain sown, the house building
had to stand over. The seed was no sooner in the ground than it had
to be fenced, as the place was swarming with cattle, which had the free
run of the island from top to bottom. Only their inclination stopped
them but, fortunately, cattle are very local in their habits; they soon
get their rounds that they stick very closely to and only occasionally
wander. When you come to take up their chosen feeding grounds, you
have to fight for it, as they do not move off quietly by any means. So,
if they are to be fenced, it has to be a fence that they respect and cannot
get through. The fence at that time was four rails ten feet
long, fixed into solid board and mortised posts-- that meant a lot of labour.
Here again Father scored.
Father
sent to the blacksmith in Dunedin, Mr. Crammond, a townie he had met.
Father had quite a genius for forming friendly acquaintances and making
them useful for both business and friendship -- a most valuable habit.
What he told Crammond to do was to get a six feet inch iron spindle, squared
in the center, to hold a balance wheel; weld an inch and a half square
onto the one end and, for a handle to drive it with on the other, put two
key slots in the center, three inches apart to keep the wheel from shifting
and that was all he wanted to make a horizonal boring machine. When
it arrived, he put two posts in the ground, about three feet high and two
feet apart, with a V-shaped groove on top of the post, into which groove
the spindle rested. Its bearings were well greased to allow the spindle
to turn freely and move inwards when boring, and outwards when being withdrawn.
For a flywheel, he made a cross with two pieces of three by two timber,
about three feet six inches long, on the end of each he fitted a block
about a foot long and four by three thick. This gave the square quite
a lot of momentum and, for withdrawing, with a turn or two, would run out
by itself. The next business was a bench to lay the post on. This
had to be held by hand at first, but any of us boys would do it and, as
one hole was bored, the post had to be pushed along for the next hole.
That
was a favorite job with us boys. I forget how many posts my father
could do in an hour, but it was as many as could be done in a day by the
old method, and not such tiring work. This was a veritable God-send.
What
was called mortising, that is cutting out the piece between the two holes
for holding rails, this was work which us boys could do, and we were on
the job accordingly, which meant a speeding up of the preparations for
fencing. As soon as the posts were ready, the next job was to get
them on the line and then get them up. As one side was a boundary
fence, and the other a road-line fence, and the section pegs could not
be located, the line had to be surveyed. Mr. Ferguson was the only
surveyor in the district at that time and, though he was not what was called
a registered surveyor, he was just as well qualified and a very fine man
to work with and for. I remember I had the job to stand by the marking
peg, a wire about fifteen inches long with a small red flag on the end,
as in chaining. The peg might have to go to the heart of the flax
bush or a clump of fern. They were by no means easy to locate.
As soon as Mr. Ferguson was near enough to point out the peg, I would make
for the next one that was being placed, as quickly as possible.
It
was a rough and tumble job, as the bearings had to be taken from section
pegs that marked the block, there was no trig station to work from, and
getting a correct bearing was a very difficult job, and very laborious
on account of the roughness of the growth. As there was no picking or choosing,
the line had to go straight on. Out in the swamp where the flax was
short, a bearing would be taken fairly easily, but as the river was approached,
roughly from ten to twelve chains, the growth was very dense flax, tutu,
and cabbage trees. There were openings through the thickets that
cattle had made and tracked, but there were big stretches without a break,
and to get through them was a caution. I have never seen anything
approaching the growth anywhere else. The richness of the soil was the
cause. To give some conception of what it meant, to get through,
I will give a little of my own experience in trying to reach the riverside
when Mayfield house was built. At that time, there was no track up the
riverside from the corner of the first clearing already noticed. The track
then went straight on, much as the road goes at present, there being a
fair-sized Maori clearing extending rather more than half way down the
present road.
Then there was a clear V-shaped clearing, extending from where the road
is now to almost behind Mayfield. It would be about three chains
wide from the bottom, narrowing into a matter of yards, with openings that
gave a winding road that a sledge could follow, right to Mosley’s and,
by going through Mosley’s ground, a sledge could get right up the island,
and by following something of the same opening, a sledge could get down
the island as far as Willie Mitchell’s but that was the farthest in that
direction at this time.
Through
these openings, was the way we got about, and the cattle also kept
to the openings, leaving a solid mass of almost impenetrable flax and tutu,
and from the first clearing on past Mayfield was a solid unbroken mass.
It was through the corner of this, I started to explore. I got through,
the distance was not three chains, yet it took me a full half day climbing,
creeping, and zigzagging. I got there, but did not try going
back. I managed to get up the riverside, which was more open.
Brambles and vines made matters much worse.
The growth was so rank and green that it was difficult to get a fire, a
good burn was next to impossible on this ground, which made the clearing
of it a costly business. Below the house, Father said it cost 16
shilling an acre to clear four acres and put in crops, nearly as much as
stumping heavy bush land. through this then, a fence line was surveyed
and cleared , so that the land that was cleared and broken up, could be
fenced.
A
little about the clearing may be interesting. As already has been said,
Father, Aggie, and Andrew were the bushmen and boatmen and they were mostly
at that work, which left the work of clearing for the rest of us -- Mother
and Auntie Fanny, Jamie and myself-- Grannie kept the other three younger
ones at the whare. This clearing was really hard work for all of us.
Mother and Auntie chipped the acres of flax with the adzes of light hoe--
one bush of flax at a time; some of us, Jamie and I pulled it away as soon
as cut. Sometimes we built them in rows, roots up, for burning, but,
if we were near the edge of the river, we put them in heaps clear of the
plough or threw them over the riverbank. This was best when at all
possible. Then the cabbage trees had to be dug out. This was
Jamie’s job, and he was pretty good at it, and a heavy job it was.
When shinning down a cabbage tree, he fell on an axe and cut himself badly,
which at the time, with no medical dressings, was rather serious.
As
a great many of the trees were broken by the cattle, there were many more
roots than were visible, but the roots never died, they were always sending
up shoots. The roots were also sledged, or carried away, as they
would not burn. We would be away all day, having just a piece for
dinner. These two women did a big amount of work in the first years
of clearing, besides grubbing the corner called the first clearance. It
was not a large piece of ground, yet it yielded us three tons of potatoes
-- a big crop and a veritable God-send to us, as what we did not
use we sent to Dunedin for groceries, as the exchequer was pretty empty
by this time. To help this Father was always doing up Maitland’s,
Ferguson’s, and Pillan’s gardens, also at Davidson’s, especially this last
place, where he did a lot of work.
Here it will help if a
note of the settlers
known to me is set out, so as to keep count and date of new arrivals on
the island. Beginning at the top were Andersons, Willcocks, Bowlers,
Davies, Ritchies, and Mosleys, Fergusons, Pillans, Barkers, ourselves,
Darlings, W. Mitchells, and Tommy Marsh. W. Atcheson and James Wright
were at Pillans with their families, and Bob Mercer was with W. Mitchell.
As far as I know these were all the settlers on the Inchclutha.
Taking the
mainland from below the ferry, ( Balclutha) I think Peter Bell (Anderson’s
shepherd) was the first. The house is still there at the willows above
hermitage, so called by Mr. Ramsay, and George Anderson set up the house
on it. This house will be noticed later on. The next was Smith
brothers: William, Joseph and Peter. William was married but
had no family then. In the same bend of the river was Boswell with
his wife, but no family. Following the river are two large bends;
in the lower one called the ‘Cresent’, were the Maitlands. There
were four sons and one daughter, who was married to Mr. Rich of Warepa.
The sons were James, George, David, and William. Following three
other large bends were Davidson’s, relations of the Maitlands, who lived
in the bend later called the ‘Gask’!
Following
round to Kaitangata bush were Lovells and a Maori settlement of several
families. At Coal Point were the three men already noted, William
Carson, Michael Muir, and William Hodge. If we follow the river down
to the mouth, there was a large stretch without settlers. The first family
at what is now called Glenomaru was Alex Begg. A little further up
the creek was Jack Tuck. Then following up what was called South Molyneux
were the Lewis’s, Hays, Hendersons and Broughs.
Above them, at Warepa, were Major Richardson,
Rich, and Strachan. The first two were run-holders. The latter
was a bootmaker and uncle of W. Strachan, cabin steward of the “Strathahallan.”
At the ferry were the McNiells. Up to the lakeside were the Frazers
and that completes what may be called the Clutha Valley. I have forgotten
to mention the Rev. W. Bannerman, minister for the whole valley, and as
far as Mataura to the south. He was a close neighbor of Major
Richardson at Willowmead, which remained his headquarters when Balclutha,
Inchclutha, and Kaitangata churches became settled charges. This,
as far as I remember, is the number of settlers, roughly up to 1860 when
a good number came to the district.
With ourselves the business of getting in seed,
was the most pressing and house building had to stand still for a time.,
this was a trying time to all, as work was wanted, and Father took
as much as he could get to meet what we had to hire. Whenever a bit
of ground was ready for ploughing, Mr. J. Wright, with Mr. Pillans’ bullocks,
eight in a team, turned it up, until we had about ten acres ready for harvesting,
which was done by our own bullocks. The Darlings had Tom and we had
Jerry, who were a pair, but not so good apart. Tom did object but Jerry
most decidedly did. When working together they were yoked with one
heavy chain between them, but one bullock cannot be worked that way.
So to work singly, harness was got for the bullocks, I think the first
of its kind in the district, if not in New Zealand.
A bullock
in a harness was a thing then unknown, and Jerry was certainly a most staunch
conservative. Harness, he would have none of. Tom took to his
quietly and gave no trouble, but Jerry was much more active. He would
let Father manage to twist his head around to where his tail should have
been and give a shake clear of the chains, and the whole business had to
start over again. Sometimes he would clear out, dragging Father after
him, as the ropes on his head had very small power over him when he set
his head down and pulled. If a turn could not be got on to something firm,
it was a case of drag and a lengthy run, and this was quite often. One
day we struck a new plan. Jerry, although he objected to work along,
was very fond of cabbages, so, by accident, when he was yoked to the sledge,
someone showed him a cabbage. He forgot all his working scruples and made
for the cabbage. That cabbage was Jerry’s undoing, or making, it depends
from which end you look at it, his or ours. The cabbage was kept
in front of him until his destination was reached.
That was
the longest and hardest straight pull he made and, by the way he pulled,
he showed that pulling was not what he objected to -- it was these new
rags. I was always of an inventive turn so I suggested tying a cabbage
three feet in front of him and I ran in front of him and he came in great
style. He got some of the cabbage for payment. We were sledging flax
at the time and, at the expense of a few cabbages, he shifted quite a lot
and that was the end of the trouble. He soon took to work and was
as good as a worker as ever was and he did his bit until horses relieved
him of his work. He was from now on a mainstay on the farm, as with
harrows Father had made, he was able to do the harrowing, and with this
harrow, and the aid of the spade and grub hoe, the wheat, oats and potatoes
were got in and thus our first year’s crop was under way.
The
next business was fencing. The timber was all cut in the Kaitangata bush
and boated down the river to Wright’s corner. James Wright had a
section there and he had taken the bullock dray down to where he intended
to build. That had helped to break down the flax and rushes. Between
that and the cattle there was a rough track formed in that direction. It
had many twists, but such as it was, Jerry dragged over it all the fencing
that we did not carry, which was a fair bit. We got it shifted
and by the time the stuff was ready for the house there was a tolerable
sledge track.
The
preparing of the posts and rails was a tedious job. The posts had
eight auger holes in each, bored with an inch and a half auger. These had
to be mortised, forming a hole about four inches long by an inch and a
half wide, the rails had to be sharpened to fit the hole. W. Mitchell
came to help us with this work, as it was all new to us, and Andrew
was his chief mate, learning the mysteries of fencing-- and he was wonderfully
quick in picking it up. Before many days W. Mitchell was complimenting
him on his post hole digging, which is quite an art in itself.
While I
am describing what was going on with us, the same of much like it was going
on with the Darlings, only they got their fencing just across the river
and had less boating and sledging. Mr. Barker was helping them.
But, when there was any big thing to be done, we both worked together much
as possible for many years. We have now reached the point where all
the crops were in and growing.
The building
of Mayfield house was now the chief object
in hand. This, you may well believe, had often been discussed. I
think Father had made up his mind about it, although he said nothing. He
had already satisfied himself that he could split the slabs as good as
weather boards, although these last were the fashion and the correct thing,
until he had split a good few and got them on the spot, it was decided
not to use them. The women folk of both families were all against
them, which was a serious matter, and until Mr. Darling dressed some and
showed how good a job could be made, they were not decided upon.
After that there was no looking back and Mr. Darling did dress them beautifully
with his adze. He had become expert in its use. Some were as
even as if dressed with the plane and could be either painted or white
washed. Once this matter was decided, it was a case of push ahead, as there
was a big job in front of us. Nearly all the stuff was in the Kaitangata
bush -- slabs for the outside covering, posts for the corners, doors and
windows and plain posts to nail the slabs to, there was no flooring going
at present. The posts were all sunk into the ground, which meant
for a wall ten feet high, took twelve foot
posts. The joists for upper floor were
sawn by Mr. Aitchesen and Mr.Mitchell, but the rafters were split.
As
soon as enough stuff was on the ground Mr. Darling set to work, mostly
with James as a help boy to hold and steady things, and so the frame began
to rise. As soon as a part was enclosed with slabs, the claying operation
was at once started. This was a very constant job and meant a lot
of work. Battons were nailed on the inside and the wet mixed clay
rammed between the slabs and the battons and, when dry, plastered to an
even face. Mother and Auntie Fanny did a lot of this work, while
Father, Aggie, and Andrew were either boating supplies or at bush work,
so it will be seen all were on the job. As soon as the boating, bush
work and sledging were finished, Father joined Mr. Darling. Aggie
and Andrew became pretty well all hands on the farm. This clearing
was endless, as they set to work on the stockyards, and pigsties, also
clearing around the house for garden and continuously getting clay from
the river bank and helping mix it, ready to put in place when wanted.
They also took over the chimney building and claying. The idea was
to get two downstairs rooms finished and fit to live in, and the stairs
and the lean-to after we were in the house. This program was fully
carried out.
Mayfield House on Inchclutha, an island in the Clutha River, Otago, New Zealand
As I have said, during the house building, and even after, the farm work
was very largely taken over by Aggie and Andrew. It was hard to say
which was the leader. I have often referred to some of their work,
but it was a long list. In addition there was garden clearing, digging
and enclosing with a lot of sod dyke, which was the only dyke of its kind
in the district at that time.
Its main object was shelter from the west gales, after the flax was cleared.
The effect of the wind was terrible.
About this time Andrew got a fine strike of young
blue gums that were, in after seven days,
to be featured of Mayfield. It was a great time when James
and Janet Willlocks came down to Darling’s house for a birthday party.
It was one of those events which only occurs once in a lifetime and I question
if there were ever again such simple pure, undiluted pleasure for us all
as that week continued. There were many others much the same as after
this, no party was complete without the Willocks, but all these lacked
the newness of the first week.
The
one outstanding holiday with us youngsters, for many years, was the Fast
Day every six months until there was regular charge, for Inchclutha Kaitangata,
when services were held every Sunday. Services could rarely be held
at Inchclutha on Fast Day, but it was an idle day, and the youngsters of
both families had always something on foot that made a pleasant break.
Looking back, I think we got as much pleasure and real enjoyment out of
life in those days, and in some respects even more, than young folks get
now with all the side to amusement. A very pleasant history could
be written of all the reunion parties and picnics that began with the first
visit of James and Janet Willocks. They grew to considerable gatherings,
filling the whole week from Christmas until New Year, at which time both
house were crowded to the utmost, even after the new houses had been built.
By the time we had our wheat, oat and potatoes sown, it would be somewhere
about the end of October 1859,
which I consider to be a good record. There would be about ten acres
in all, but it was equal to a hundred acres with the present day helps.
We will look at the crops further on. When the crops were sown, the
fencing was under way, but there was still a good deal to do and the crops
were up green and the cattle getting on them before the fence was enclosed.
So there was some herding to be done by us young folk. These cattle
were not our own, as ours were with the Darling’s cattle, running on the
balloon, which formed a fine big paddock for them. Lizzie Darling
and I had the job of getting the cows at night in those days. If
the cows were at the head of the balloon, it was a pretty long step, and
took a good two hours to get them. The Maoris had done a good bit
of cultivating on the balloon and there were tracks cleared ground right
at the head that had been quite a big camp. There were the remains
of a good-sized whale boat, the timber was mostly rotten, but the shape
was intact and there were quite a lot of clubs and other Maori gear.
The clubs were about six feet long, with a fancy grip for the hand, and
place for each finger.
We used
to do some great exploring round these parts as this was unknown land,
except to us two families. From here we could see the mainland, which
is now Kaitangata. The chief inhabitants at that time was a herd
of goats. I do not know who owned them, but they were very curious
about anyone appearing. Make a noise and they gathered up at once
and, when we took the boat around, they would run along the bank watching
the boat. We youngsters thought them great fun.
Now
while we have been following our own movements, that is the Darlings and
us, concurrently other movements were taking place. Mr. Davidson
of the Gask, was going to be married and was getting ready to build.
He was living in a hut on the river bank, just below the Darling’s.
He was really the connecting link with the outside world, as he, Maitlands,
and Mr. Ferguson were the only ones who had horses; so Mr. Davidson used
to bring any mail that came to the ferry, the only post office. In
connection with the house building, Mr Mitchell and Mr. Aitchenson were
busy sawing in the bush, living in a bush hut all week and going home on
Saturdays for provisions. As soon as there was enough timber to start
building, Mr. W. Willocks, the carpenter with hired help, was on the job.
They lodged with Mr. Davidson. They were also building a house for
Tommy Marsh. As far as I remember, each house went on as timber was
available, these extra made company and there were gatherings in the evenings.
Two runholders used to visit Mr. Davidson fairly often, and they found
their way across. They were both young fellows and very lonely and,
on the whole, things at that time were fairly lively and bright.
One
outstanding feature of those early days was the free and easy social habits
that were part of our lives. Our delight in human society, I consider
purely the natural effect produced by a corresponding depressing loneliness
and isolation that the settlers had to continually fight against, knowing
instinctively that, if it got him down, he was done for. Solitude
has its charms and its own place and time, but it also has its terror.
An experience that must be felt in its true sense to understand it.
I once felt that really solemn feeling pointing clearly towards terror.
It was on top of Ben Lomond, above Queenstown, as I looked from that solitary
peak, miles away from any living thing. The absolute loneliness of
the situation came home to me as something absolutely appalling,
akin to terror, just the sense of being so far from any living thing.
I was thankful I was not alone, as there were three of us. That is
something of the feeling that gets into the lonely settler’s very blood
and the joy of company was pure delight.
It was very easy to understand
the free hospitality all around. What we did on New
Years Day of 1860, I am not sure. We had a holiday of
some sort, I think we youngsters had a picnic at Kaitangata hills, seeing
the Maori camps. We did not keep Christmas Day, as it was considered
English at that time, and we were Scottish. We kept the Fast day
instead. I think, by this time, we had our first paddock enclosed;
so had the Darlings. The two paddocks were beside each other, a fence
between them -- a good record for the first year.
From the seed sowing until the
harvest there was a host of jobs to overtake or get in hand. Fencing
was imperative and had to be done first. Then house building, but
this carried other requirements along with it. The arrangement then
existing was one of stock yard and calf pens for use by both families,
but as soon as we moved into Mayfield House, a stockyard would need to
be in existence and some other enclosure besides. As it was all open
country for miles around, not the nice enclosed place like the balloon,
there had to be provision made for yards to keep the milkers about.
This was Aggie's and Andrew's work, with Jamie as an extra, between the
house building and the stockyard. Father was [working] with Mr. Darling
at the house. This, with other jobs, kept us hard at it until harvest
and this merits some special attention.
Harvest, in
those days, was a serious business and makes one think how people lived
before the advent of farm labor-saving implements. Labor organizations
cry out against machinery as being against the interests of labor, but
had the old conditions still existed, conditions now would be unthinkable.
The fashion at that time, was that wheat had to be reaped with a sickle,
a handful at a time, and laid in a bank as straight as if it had been done
by a piece of machinery. Wheat was precious in those days, about
15 shillings a bushel, sometimes much higher. A quarter of an acre
of such reaping was a big days work and a wearisome one and only an expert
could do it; half that amount was enough for beginners. Some could
do scything, this was a mode of using the hook with a swinging stroke,
something like the scything, only with more force, at the same time, gathering
the grain into an armful with the left hand. It was very difficult
to learn and few could do it. Mr. Darling was the only one amongst
those
about at that time who was able to do it and was pretty good at it.
Others tried it, but few could make a success of it. My father never
tried; he simply used the scythe to the horror of old Mr. Barker, who piously
declared he would as soon burn the wheat as cut it with a scythe.
But Father went ahead and soon all were using the despised scythe, even
Mr. Barker, though he took several years to come to it.
The cutting then was by
Father mowing, Aggie and Janet lifting, I making bands, Andrew binding
and stooking. With wheat we could do nearly an acre a day, but not quite
that with oats. Father could manage rather more if it was not too
heavy. This was done by what was called cutting in -- that is, the
grain was cast against the standing grain. This is rather easier
than throwing it out and can be considered easier and, on the whole, makes
a cleaner job. There were days when Father could not get cutting with a
scythe. On these days, we all turned out with the hooks and made
not a bad show. Such was the cutting.
Stacking was another business. I can not remember if there was a stack
the first year, as threshing had to be done as quickly as possible to get
the straw and it was mostly threshed over a barrel -- that is, a
sheet was spread and a barrel placed on its side; a good handful of wheat
was taken, striking the heads on the barrel. If the wheat was
nice and ripe and dry, two or three licks would take every grain out and,
one great virtue was that the chaff mostly stuck to the straw and the grain
was easily cleaned. A stook would be carried in, threshed, and cleaned,
ready for the steel mill to be ground in the morning. That would
be about a bushel, two days grinding, and the straw was ideal thatch.
The whole of the first year's wheat was carried in on our backs and threshed
as described, and a heavy job it was, but it was done and the house was
thatched, although not