Station Amusements in New Zealand by Lady Mary Anne Barker (best reads of all time .TXT) 📖

creek made such a noise between them that I could not hear what F---- said, and only guessed from his despairing gestures that there was no trap door visible in the green roof. I signalled as well as I could that he was to come down directly, for his-standing-place looked most insecure. Insecure indeed it proved. As I spoke the great fragment of rock loosely embedded in earth on the mountain side gave way with a crash, and came tumbling majestically down on the top of the scrub. As for F----, he described a series of somersaults in the air, which however agreeable in themselves, were very trying to the nerves of the spectatrix below. My first dread was least the rock should crush him, but to my great joy I saw at once that it was rolling slowly down the hill, whilst F----'s vigorous bound off it as it gave way, had carried him well into the middle of the leafy cushion beneath him, where he presently landed flat on his back!

I expected every moment to hear the revolver go off, but mercifully it did not do so; and as his thorny bed was hardly to be endured, F---- soon kicked himself off it, and before I could realize that he was unhurt, had scrambled to his feet, and was rushing off, crying in school-boy glee, "That will fetch him out" That (the rock) certainly did fetch him (the pig) out in a moment, and Pincher availed himself of the general confusion to seize hold of his enemy's hind leg, which he never afterwards let go. The boar kept snapping and champing his great tusks; but Pincher, even with the leg in his mouth, was too active to be caught: so as the boar found that it was both futile and undignified to try to run away with a dog hanging on his hind-quarters, he tried another plan. Making for a clump of Ti-ti palms he went to bay, and contrived to take up a very good defensive position. Pincher would have never given up his mouthful of leg if F---- had not called him off, for it seemed impossible to fire the revolver whilst the dog held on. This change of tactics was much against Pincher's judgment, and he kept rushing furiously in between F---- and the boar. As for me, I prudently retired behind a big boulder, on which I could climb if the worst came to the worst, and called out from time to time, to both dog and man, "Oh, don't!"

They did not even hear me, for the din of battle was loud. The pig dodged about so fast, that although F----'s bullets lodged in the palm tree at his back, not one struck a vulnerable part, and at last F----, casting his revolver behind him for me to pick up and reload, closed with his foe, armed only with the shear-spear. Pincher considered this too dangerous, and rushed in between them to distract the boar's attention. Just as F---- aimed a thrust at his chest,--for it was of no use trying to penetrate his hide,--the boar lowered his head, caught poor faithful Pincher's exposed flank, and tore it open with his razor-like tusk; but in the meantime the spear had gone well home into his brawny chest, exactly beneath the left shoulder, and his life-blood came gushing out. I was so infuriated at the sight of Pincher's frightful wound that I felt none of my usual pity for the victim; and rushing up to F---- with the revolver, of which only a couple of chambers were loaded, thrust it into his hand with an entreaty to "kill him quickly." This F---- was quite willing to do for his own sake, as a wounded boar is about the most dangerous beast on earth; and although the poor brute kept snapping at the broken flax-stick sticking in his heart, he fired a steady shot which brought the pig on his knees, only to roll over dead the next moment.

I cannot help pausing to say that I sewed up Pincher's wound then and there, with some of the contents of my Cambusmore house-wife; which always accompanied me on my sporting expeditions, and we carried him between us down to where the horses were fastened. There I mounted; and F---- lifting the faithful creature on my lap, we rode slowly home, dipping our handkerchiefs in cold water at every creek we crossed, and laying them on his poor flank. He was as patient and brave as possible, and bore his sufferings and weakness for days afterwards in a way which was a lesson to one, so grateful and gentle was he. His brave and sensible behaviour met its due reward in a complete though slow recovery.

I have only left myself space for one little sketch more; but it comes so vividly before me that I cannot shut it out. After a long day's walking, over the hills and vallies, so beautiful beneath our azure winter-sky, walking which was delightful as an expedition, but unsuccessful as to sport, we crossed the track of a large boar. We knew he was old by his being alone, and it was therefore very certain that he would show fight if we came up with him. Patiently we followed the track over a low saddle, through a clump of brushwood menuka, the broken twigs of which showed how large an animal had just passed by. Here and there a freshly grubbed-up Spaniard showed where he had paused for a snack; but at length we dropped down on the river bed, with its wide expanse of shingle, and there we lost all clue to our game.

After a little hesitation, F---- decided on climbing a high cliff on the right bank of the river, and trying to catch a glimpse of him. The opposite hill-side was gaunt and bare; a southern aspect shut out the sun in winter, and for all its rich traces of copper ore, "Holkam's Head" found no favour in the eyes of either shepherds or master. Grass would not grow there except in summer, and its gray, shingly sides were an eye-sore to its owner. We sat down on the cliff, and looked around carefully. Presently F---- said, in a breathless whisper of intense delight, "I see him." In vain I looked and looked, but nothing could my stupid eyes discover. "Lie down," said F---- to me, just as if I had been a dog. I crouched as low as possible, whilst F----settled himself comfortably flat on his stomach, and prepared to take a careful aim at the opposite side of the hill.

After what seemed a long time, he pulled his rifle's trigger, and the flash and crack was followed apparently by one of the gray boulders opposite leaping up, and then rolling heavily down the hill. F---- jumped up in triumph crying, "Come along, and don't forget the revolver." When we had crossed the river, reckless of getting wet to our waists in icy-cold water, F---- took the revolver from me and went first; but, after an instant's examination, he called out, "Dead as a door-nail! come and look at him." So I came, with great caution, and a more repulsive and disgusting sight cannot be imagined than the huge carcass of our victim already stiffening in death. The shot had been a fortunate one, for only an inch away from the hole the bullet had made his shoulders were regularly plated with thick horny scales, off which a revolver bullet would have glanced harmlessly, and he bore marks of having fought many and many a battle with younger rivals. His huge tusks were notched and broken, and he had evidently been driven out from among his fellows as a quarrelsome member of their society. Already the keen-eyed hawks were hovering above the great monster, and we left him to his fate in the solitary river gorge, where all was bleak and cold and gloomy,--a fitting death-place for the fierce old warrior.


Chapter IV: Skating in the back country.

I do not believe that even in Canada the skating can be better than that which was within our reach in the Malvern Hills. Among our sheltered valleys an sunny slopes the hardest frost only lasted a few hour after dawn; but twenty-five miles further back, on the border of the glacier region, the mountain tarns could boast of ice several feet thick all the winter. We heard rumours of far-inland lakes, across which heavily-laden bullock-teams could pass in perfect safety for three months of the year, and we grumbled at the light film over our own large ponds, which would not bear even my little terrier's weight after mid-day: and yet it was cold enough at night, during our short bright winters, to satisfy the most icy-minded person. I think I have mentioned before that the wooden houses in New Zealand, especially those roughly put together up-country, are by no means weather-tight. Disagreeable as this may be, it is doubtless the reason of the extraordinary immunity from colds and coughs which we hill-dwellers enjoyed. Living between walls formed by inch-boards over-lapping each other, and which can only be made to resemble English rooms by being canvassed and papered inside, the pure fresh air finds its way in on all sides. A hot room in winter is an impossibility, in spite of drawn curtains and blazing fires, therefore the risk of sudden changes of temperature is avoided.

Some such theory as this is absolutely necessary to account for the wonderfully good health enjoyed by all, in the most capricious and trying climate I have ever come across. When a strong nor'-wester was howling down the glen, I have seen the pictures on my drawing-room walls blowing out to an angle of 45 degrees, although every door and window in the little low wooden structure had been carefully closed for hours. It has happened to me more than once, on getting up in the morning, to find my clothes, which had been laid on a chair beneath my bedroom window overnight, completely covered by powdered snow, drifting in through the ill-fitting casement. This same window was within a couple of feet of my bed, and between me and it was neither curtain nor shelter of any sort. Of a winter's evening I have often been obliged to wrap myself up in a big Scotch maud, as I sat, dressed in a high linsey gown, by a blazing fire, so hard was the frost outside; but by ten o'clock next morning I would be loitering about the verandah, basking in the sunshine, and watching the light flecks of cloud-wreaths and veils floating against an Italian-blue sky. Yet such is the inherent discontent of the human heart, that instead of rejoicing in this lovely mid-day sunshine, we actually mourned over the vanished ice which at daylight had been found, by a much-envied early riser, strong enough to slide on for half an hour. It seemed almost impossible to believe that any one had been sliding that morning within a few feet of where I sat working in a blaze of sunshine, with my pretty grey and pink Australian parrot pluming itself on the branch of a silver wattle close by, and "Joey," the tiny monkey from Panama, sitting on the skirt of my gown, with a piece of its folds arranged by himself shawl-wise over his glossy black shoulders. If either of these tropical pets had been left out after four o'clock that sunny day, they, would have been frozen to death before our supper time.

It was just on such a day as this, and in just such a bright mid-day hour, that a distant neighbour of ours rode up to the garden gate, leading a pack horse. Outside the saddle-bags, with which this animal was