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Annandale Past and Present 1839-1900

Chapter IV. — Landing Of New Zealand's "Pilgrim Fathers."

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Chapter IV.
Landing Of New Zealand's "Pilgrim Fathers."

Aslong as their ships remained in port, viz., for about a month after their arrival, the passengers remained on board, the men landing daily to work at the erection of their houses or "whares." At last, however, their arks of refuge having to sail for other climes, all had to land and establish themselves as best they could on shore. Most of them located themselves near the site of the present Government railway workshops at Petone (or, as pronounced by the Maoris, Peto-o-one, which means "end of the sand," now corrupted into Petone—all the vowels are sounded long in Maori), or between the Koro-koro stream and the Maori Pah.

Having been led to believe the survey ships, "Tory" and "Cuba," were to provide materials for tents or houses for the Colonists, Dr. Logan and Mr. Hay did not bring anything of the kind with them, consequently they were put to greater straits than most of their fellow passengers, who had brought frame-works with them, and got into the shelter of their first homes before the storms arose. The Wilson family, Mr. J. Yule, Dr. Logan, Mr. George Wallace (Mrs. Logan's brother), and Mr. Hay all workedpage 42
Petone Beach, 1842.

Petone Beach, 1842.

page 43together, cutting down timber out of the green forests to make the frame-works of their houses. Meanwhile, fortunately for Mrs. Logan and Mrs. Hay, the "Glenbervie," under command of Captain Black, arrived a few days before the "Bengal Merchant" sailed. The "Glenbervie" belonged to Mr. Raeburn, of Glasgow—Mr. Hay's brother-in-law—and by him Captain Black had been instructed to do anything in his power to help the new arrivals during his stay in port. This the captain did, coming on shore during a heavy storm of wind and rain and taking Mrs. Logan and Mrs. Hay (who had landed from the "Bengal Merchant," which was about to sail) on board of his ship, to stay till the weather moderated. The Captain found the two ladies making the best of a miserable shelter—a small tent put up temporarily (to enter which they had to creep on hands and knees!) They remained three weeks on board the "Glenbervie," and then, with Mr. Yule and the Wilson family, found temporary shelter in a tent made with ship's sails—lent them by Captain Black—which they contrived to divide by piling up their boxes, and hanging blankets or sails to form partitions between the quarters of the three families. Here they had their first and worst experiences, as far as personal discomforts went.

The continuous rain prevented the completion of their houses for many weeks, and the unfortunate exiles had perforce to sit on their boxes with umbrellas over them, under the dripping sails, till their courage all but failed them. The rain falling day after day added to their personal discomfort and accentuated their misery; it created a feeling of wonder as to what could have happened to the lovely climate they expected to find, or whether, in addition to their varied belongings, they had contrived to transport to the Southern Hemisphere the leaden skies of old Scotia As a Scotch lady pathetically remarked——page 44" Oh, if this fug would only lift, we micht see the flat laund!"

Alas! the "flat laund" was difficult to find, even when the "fug" lifted, for then to their astonished view rose high, beautifully wooded hills all around! The beauty of the scenery did not compensate for its disadvantages to those who came out with crude notions of beginning farming without let or hindrance; and it is not to be wondered at that some of our pioneers felt sadly depressed at the outset. It was natural that the settlers, both men and women, should feel bewildered, coming from their distant homes, to a land where the foot of white man had never trod, nor his hands yet cleared a space wherein to dwell. Only one of all their number had ever been out of his native country before—that one was Dr. Logan. A funny instance of the very vague conceptions formed by some of those early arrivals of this Terra Incognita was that of a Scotch lady—who still lives in the Wanganui district—deploring the want of "parks and kye" (cows), both of which she had confidently expected to see on her first glimpse of the promised land!

Fine weather set in at last, and in due course the houses were finished ready for occupation. Nearly all these structures were built of the flax-leaf and toi-toi, a well-known swamp grass, with a keen, cutting edge, which, when firmly laced in and out of the frame-work of poles or saplings, made an exceedingly comfortable house. Some still further improved them by covering the toi-toi walls with a clay mixture, which made the houses much warmer; this was called "wattle and daub." The houses our friends were busy at were too hastily put up at first, the grass used being too green; hence, when the sun dried it, the thatching all shrivelled up, leaving it page 45as open as a sieve, so that the roof over their heads was no protection against rains or winds.

Dr. Logan afterwards engaged the services of the Maoris, who were quite au fait at this work; they thatched it all properly on roof and walls, and rendered it quite impervious to the heaviest rains. For payment he bestowed on one a long black "surtout" coat, on the others shirts, blankets, &c. The picture of the powerful swarthy savage, dressed in surtout solo—his long, bare brown legs and feet emerging below, his tatooed face and feathered head surmounting the sombre professional garment, was irresistibly comic! The coat would be worn as long as it held together, and if half a dozen more had been given to the wearer, all would have been donned at once, in accordance with Maori custom.

The first township, named "Britannia," was surveyed and laid off across the Haeratonga River—now known as the Hutt—near the site of the property afterwards occupied by the late Dr. Swainson. A number of those landed from the first three ships got whares erected on it, and their goods and chattels conveyed to them by means of boats and canoes up the river. Scarcely was this done when the cumulative effects of the constant rains produced a flood, which rose so high that some families had to take refuge on the roofs of their whares. Later arrivals, taking warning, chose higher ground to build upon.

There was at least more warmth and comfort when they were settled in their grass houses; but they were very barely furnished, apart from their comfortable beds, for which they soon made good strong bedsteads, they had no furniture at all till they made it. Their boxes were used as tables and chairs too—eked out by a few camp-stools—till the time came when they gradually had things more page 46comfortable in their primitive homes. They filled up the interstices of their shingle floors with clay till they had a smooth hard surface, which they could easily sweep and wash, as it dried so quickly; over this they laid flax mats, made by the Maoris. They had no doors till a ship arrived some months later with the suitable timber. They then got doors fitted on, and the window spaces filled with glass, which formerly were left open like the doorways. In times of rain or wind they curtained the doors and windows across with calico or barricaded them with wood or flax straw, shifting each stop-gap to suit the direction of the winds! Their fire-places required careful building, they made them wide, and built them up with stones at the base, then filled the spaces with clay. Above this they made a frame-work of supplejacks, laced into strong supports, which were driven into the ground outside, and reached to the top of the chimneys. The clay was then thickly plastered on outside and inside, and neatly finished off. A bar of iron, when they had it, was built into the chimney—laid across—upon which the kettles and pots were hung. The latter were of the gypsy pattern, round, three-legged, iron pots—or cauldrons. Mrs. Hay had a "nest" of those useful utensils, twelve, in varying sizes.

The houses, or whares (especially those not daubed with clay) were very inflammable, and soon after the flood a disastrous fire occurred, which destroyed what was called the Cornish Row, a considerable part of the young township. This row was occupied entirely by labouring men, chiefly Cornish miners, and comprised sets of five or six houses built in one length, with partitions between each house. They were grass houses without the clay, and when one took fire through a spark igniting the dry grass walls, the fire, soon devoured the whole row. It was impossible to save anything at all, as in most of the houses there were firearms and ammunition, which kept up a fusilade of page 47explosions, and necessitated all beating a hasty retreat. It made a grand blaze, and afforded the Maori spectators much enjoyment.

These untoward events, combined with the difficulties of landing on the exposed beach at Petone—where in south-easterly gales a heavy sea breaks on the shore, and shoal water runs out a considerable distance, all unfavourable to a good shipping port—caused a very strong feeling to arise as to the expediency of changing the site of the township to that on which the city of Wellington now stands. The idea was strongly opposed by Colonel Wake-field, the New Zealand Company's representative, who met the objectors with the quotation—"Rome was not built in a day," and assured them that wharves, &c, would come in course of time. Eventually, however, the pressure brought to bear upon him was sufficiently strong to induce him to acquiesce in the proposed change. The new name —Wellington—was then adopted as a compliment to the Duke, who had assisted the New Zealand Company with some Parliamentary Bills. Survey parties were at once sent down to commence the surveying of the town, which occupied them about twelve months.

After the advent of the sixth ship—the "Adelaide"—all the vessels arriving berthed at, or near Te Aro, Wellington, where nature had provided a safe anchorage for ships, and dry land on which to build a township. Most of those who were already squatted down at Petone, or its environs, as soon as possible removed to the new town, Thorndon, at the north end, receiving the greatest amount of patronage. As there was no road, and the sea washed at high tide close into the foot of the hills, making travelling very difficult even for foot passengers, the transit had to be made by boats, chiefly whaleboats. This entailed a good deal of danger, as most of the settlers were unaccustomed to boating. A sad case of drowning occurred one page 48
Thornden, Wellingtom, 1842.

Thornden, Wellingtom, 1842.

page 49day on the return trip of a party, who had gone to Wellington to find out how the surveys were getting on There was a stiff southerly gale blowing, and, as they neared the shore at Petone, the man who managed the steer oar allowed the boat to get into the surf. Immediately it broached to and capsized, drowning nine men Only one of their number was saved, by the efforts of those on the beach (a few Maoris and white women, the men being all away working), who joined hands and waded in to try and rescue the drowning men.

Most of the "Bengal's" passengers had located themselves pretty closely together (as each vessel's emigrants instinctively did) round Petone beach by leave of the Maoris, with whom they were on good terms, and here they waited patiently for the time when they would be enabled to select their lands. Dr. and Mrs. Logan and Mr. and Mrs. Hay lived under one roof for a period of over two years, many others doing the same. The natives were specially friendly with our two families, owing to the Doctor's medical attentions to them. One of the Chief (Epuni's) sons required a surgical operation on his foot, and the Chief manifested his gratitude in many little ways; for instance, when the Doctor once was himself lying extremely ill—an illness that almost proved fatal—the Chief came or sent every day to enquire for him, and if at any time he found too many natives in or round the house, though they might be there with the best intentions, a word from him would send them all away, because, as he explained to them, "too much korero (talk) no good for sick Dokitaha." When Dr. Logan and family were removing to Wellington years later, the Chief, Epuni, begged him to stay and be their "Dokitaha," offering him plenty of land which he (the Chief) had it in his power to bestow. This offer the Doctor could not see page 50his way to accept, much as he liked and admired the Chief.

Through ignorance of the Maori customs at the very first, Mr. Hay once so seriously offended them that he was in danger of losing his life. One Sunday evening, as Mrs. Hay and he were enjoying a walk on the hillside, they passed over a Maori's grave, not knowing it was sacred ground, therefore "tapu"—tabooed. They had yet to learn what the law of "tapu" entailed on the unwary. A band of Maoris came running to them, gesticulating angrily, one brandishing a "mere," or Maori hatchet, round his head, and all under the influence of fierce passion. Mr. Hay kept his eye on the most furious of his foes, he of the "mere," expecting every moment to be attacked and overpowered. Whether it was because he stood his ground unflinchingly, or because of the intervention of some less angry, who knew his mistake was committed unwittingly, Mr. Hay never knew; but he and Mrs. Hay were allowed to pass through the ranks of angry warriors after some "korero" amongst themselves. He soon got to understand how best to hold his own with them, and yet keep the peace.

Once, after a tramp from Wellington with some medicine for Mrs. Hay, who was ill, Mr. Hay, to save wetting his feet in Koro-koro stream, got on a Maori's back to be carried across. This was quite an established custom, the Maoris being eager for such a chance of "utu" (payment), which was always given in advance. On landing, the Maori dexterously whipped the bottle of medicine out of Mr. Hay's pocket, and ran away as fast as his fleet legs could carry him! Mr. Hay caught him by the blanket, but he got away, leaving the blanket in Mr. Hay's hands. It was useless Mr. Hay attempting pursuit, though he also could page 51run, so he decided to bide his chance of teaching his Maori friend a lesson. The time soon came, for on the next Sunday he overtook Mr. Maori on the way out of church (they were being rapidly Christianised by this time), ostentatiously carrying, so that all might see it, an English Testament, which was as Greek to him, of course. Without giving a thought to the day or the Book, intent simply on inculcating his moral lesson with practical effect, Mr. Hay snatched the Testament out of the Maori's hands and walked away. There was a great fuss made, and much "korero," but Mr. Hay would not yield to persuasion. At last the Chief came to settle the point, having heard a distorted version of the matter. To him Mr. Hay explained the facts of the case, and he made the Maori go to his whare some distance off, and bring back the medicine (trongo), after which Mr. Hay returned the Testament. No doubt the Maori thought it was waipero (grog) he had so cleverly seized upon, and its bitter taste saved it—and perhaps the Maori's life.

During their sojourn at Petone the first three of the Hay family were born: first, a baby girl, who only lived a few weeks; her name was Hannah. James was born in June, 1841, followed by Thomas Orr in October, 1842, whom the youthful James saluted, baby fashion, by knocking him on the head with his toy hammer for interfering with his vested interests, thus early showing his conservative ideas. This remarkably active little native nearly put an end to his happy little life by exploring the depths of a waterhole, into which a cask had been fitted for household use. Fortunately it was not full, and the child managed to turn and stand up, giving free play to his lung powers, meanwhile, till his whereabouts was discovered.

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We of the present generation can form little idea of the hardships of those early pioneers, landed in a new country whose only products were potatoes, maize, kumaras (a native sweet potato), and a few wild pigs, with the indigenous supply of fish and native birds. The natives frequently brought in wild pigs, which they bartered for a shirt or blanket. Potatoes, too, and kumaras they brought in small baskets, for one of which they would take in payment the same measurement of calico, or a coloured handkerchief. The settlers, too, went out shooting wild pigeons and "kakas," a species of parrot, brown or black, and red under the wings, with very large heads and bills. The Maories were very ingenious in snaring these kakas (pronounced caw-caws): they made a strong trap of a bar of wood with a hole in it, through which they passed a piece of twisted flax, doubled, putting the loop over a bunch of feathers. They then hid themselves among the undergrowth below the large trees, in the branches of which they fixed these traps, holding the ends of each flax string-in their hands, ready to pull when the time came. Then they teased a tame kaka to make it cry out, and directly crowds would come fluttering round, all crying in their peculiar shrill way. As soon as one was caught in the snare, they tightened the flax-string, which held it fast. Often in a few minutes as many as 40 or 50 kakas were thus snared. The Maoris used to bake them, feathers and all; then peel the skin off. They were very delicious, but extremely tough to pluck. Like the wild pigeon, they required a long time in cooking. These birds were at this time very plentiful, and a great luxury to our pioneers, when they could spare time to shoot them.

The ships brought out supplies of food, flour, sugar, tea, and general stores, which kept things going for a time; but bye-and-bye the stream of Colonists slackened, requiring page 53fewer vessels to bring them out, whilst the number of souls steadily increased, the demand thus becoming alarmingly greater than the supply. The food question then became a most serious one. Flour rose to the price of £5-5s. per bag of 200 lbs.—or over 6d. per lb. Potatoes, kumaras, and oatmeal formed the chief sustenance of most people, butter, as likewise beef and mutton, being almost unknown luxuries, as scarcely any domestic animals of any kind were yet in the country. The first and only cow yet in Wellington was" brought out in the "Bengal Merchant." Even years later, when a few sheep were imported from Australia, a leg of mutton cost in Wellington 10s. 6d. rauriki (sow thistles) and wild cabbage supplied the place of vegetables; the former, when cooked, resembled spinach, and was much used. It was a considerable time before the settlers got into the way of making bread with yeast; the gridle-scone was their staple. At first they managed by keeping a piece of dough to "leaven" the next batch of bread, which they baked in camp ovens, when they had them." Damper," a primitive kind of bread made of flour and water only, shaped into flat cakes, and baked on hot hearths, was often used as a substitute for leavened bread.

Maori ovens were holes made in the ground, often lined with stones; in these holes a fire was kindled, which was allowed to burn down to ashes, then swept out, and the meat or bread put in and covered over with fern, rushes, or anything handy. Our settlers soon made for themselves very good ovens of clay (or later, bricks), which they used in the same way. These ovens were usually built outside the houses, in a clay bank preferably, and served their purpose admirably.

The deprivation of so many of the comforts of life, and the shifts they had recourse to for even the necessaries page 54were borne cheerfully by the whole community. Petty annoyances that need not have occurred—"man's inhumanity to man "—were harder to bear than the difficulties they expected to meet, and grapple with in the same spirit of bravery that had led them to find and make their homes in this distant isle of the Southern Ocean. The following incident will illustrate this, and also show how early in the history of our colony the tyranny of red-tapeism was introduced. We can but faintly realise, in these days of fast and frequent steamers, how rare was the visit of a ship in those days, bringing fresh arrivals, food, and news from the outer world—best of all, letters from the dear ones far away in the old country. The captain would hoist the bunting, and fire the cannon to herald his approach, knowing that a joyful welcome awaited him. Even 30 years later we know this was so, the captains and officers on their arrival being fêted by one and all who could get that pleasure. We can then understand with what eager delight a ship's arrival was hailed in the far back period of which we are writing, and how the Post Office (a hut, by courtesy so called) would be besieged for the mail. On one of these occasions, in the year 1841, Mr. Hay, after a hard morning's work, started away to tramp to Wellington, over the eight miles of rocky beach that then constituted the only road thither, except by boat. Travelling at his best pace, well known amongst his confréres as a difficult one to rival, he arrived at the toi-toi whare, which then did duty as Her Majesty's Post Office, just at closing time. He met, emerging from the door, the gentleman (?) who officiated as Post Master, and asked for his letters, adding that he had just walked from Petone to get his mail. "Too late," was the curt reply; "you must come back tomorrow;" and, deaf to all appeals, he coolly turned his back, locked his door, and left Mr. Hay in far from an envious frame of page 55mind, with no other option but to return to Petone and repeat the rough walk next day. Such was the crotchety perversity of this early specimen of officialdom, who would have broken no law, and lost but few minutes in kindly satisfying the enquiry.

The sequel to this little tale will prove that even from the lowest stand-point—self-interest, courtesy and kindness to our fellow-creatures is, like honesty, "the best policy." Many years afterwards this same gentleman appeared at dusk one evening at the old "Annandale" home, Pigeon Bay, on his way to Akaroa, fifteen miles distant, seeking supper and a bed for the night. He was received with the usual kindly hospitality accorded to all strangers; but it was not in human nature (especially feminine nature!) to resist such an opportunity for inculcating a moral lesson. Accordingly the episode of 1841 was recalled to his remembrance, and although he tried to excuse himself, and finally made a humble apology, peace was not restored until Mrs. Hay had clearly shown the gentleman his act of discourtesy from her point of view. There is no doubt both Mr. and Mrs. Hay felt more kindly towards their guest after they had the satisfaction of ventilating the matter, and let us hope the man himself profited by being reminded of the golden rule—"Do unto others as you would that they should do to you."

When on the subject of mails and postmasters, we may wind up this chapter with an amusing little dialogue that took place one day, about the year 1841–42, between the very gentleman above referred to and a newly arrived Scot hailing "frae Paisley," whose apprehension of the meaning of the word "mail" might be said to be a limited one. When the Post Master in his canoe came alongside the page 56newly arrived vessel, and enquired in a stentorian voice "Have you any mail on board?" the Paisley "body' instantly made reply, "No, mon, we hae na a pickle on boord; we've had nae parritch for near three weeks!"