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Chapter IX.

Mr. Tuckett now, on the 23rd April, despatched the Deborah across from Waikouaiti to Otago, preferring to proceed overland to judge of the practicability of forming an inland road to that harbour. His journey occupied two days, and was a most toilsome one, especially towards the latter part, when the forest became almost impenetrable from the dense undergrowth and numerous steep gullies intersecting in every direction. But these difficulties surmounted, Mr. Tuckett found himself on descending opposite the little vessel which was anchored snugly in that inlet a mile below Port Chalmers to which she has given the name of Deborah Bay. Those on board had been charmed with the magnificent sheet of land-locked water surrounded by the densely wooded hills. Having no Mr. Symonds to interfere, the survey of the harbour was at once proceeded with. The head of the river, as the whalers called it, and where Dunedin now stands, was visited in a boat, and gave almost unqualified satisfaction to Mr. Tuckett as a site for a town. The objections to it were that it had not deep water near, and that the harbour was too far away. However, it evidently deeply impressed Mr. Tuckett, for in one of his letters to the author, Mr. Wöhlers says: "We went in a boat through a passage by Port Chalmers up the inlet to where Dunedin now is. All the country there was an uninhabited wilderness. We landed at a low flat place; somewhere to our right (our faces landward), I believe, there was a creek. We went to the left upon higher ground. The vegetation here looked barren. Mr. Tuckett walked farther over the hills to have a good look over the country, and he was much pleased when he came back with the beautiful valleys he had seen. He also thought that the place where we had remained would suit the site of the chief town. However, he would not fix his choice until he had seen the country page 49so far as Foveaux Strait." Without doubt this means that the two landed at that accessible spot used for years afterwards by the Maoris as a landing place, and close to the back of the Custom House. Old settlers will well remember that here a small creek—the Kaituna, which means eel food—emptied itself after meandering down High and across Princes Streets, near the Grand Hotel. The party then ascended to the higher ground, where Princes, Manse, and Stafford Streets now meet, and which was then considerably higher than at present. Thirty years ago the city council greatly reduced this rise. It is very certain, too, that the summit of Bell Hill, now cast into the sea for reclamation purposes would be another vantage point for the explorer. From it could be seen the entire flax-covered level north of the Octagon, and the various descending spurs clothed in all the glory of that evergreen which still charms the eye and contributes to Dunedin so much of its rare beauty.

Such was Oteputi as it existed when its name was about to fade into that of New Edinburgh, and when its sole occupants were wekas, pukekos, quails, moreporks, and wild pigs. The stay in the harbour was not devoid of its little incidents. The Maoris were very friendly, and readily assented to the harbour survey, though they could not understand why leave was asked to drag a chain along the beach. They bartered fish and potatoes for a few steel pens, ink, and paper, and exhibited with much pride their copy books filled with very neat writing. Then one evening they enjoyed a very primitive concert on board the St. Croix, a Danish whaler. Her crew was made up of all nationalities—Danes, Germans, Swedes, Americans, English, and French; and of all trades—shoemakers, tailors, coopers, and others. The boatswain and cooper were called into the cuddy, the latter with a fiddle under his arm, and captain, mate, boatswain, and cooper sang their English, German, and French songs until midnight.

Mr. Tuckett now determined to proceed overland as far as the Molyneux, and gave orders for the Deborah to meet him there. Dr. Monro accompanied him on this toilsome journey, and three Maoris as guides and carriers made up the party. After a miserable night with wretched shelter spent somewhere in Princes Street of to-day, they started on the brilliant frosty morning of April 30th. From careful collation of the journals and the track marked on Tuckett's map, it would seem that their course was somewhat in the same direction as that of the present Halfway Bush Road page 50and onward until the elevation overlooking the North Taieri was struck. A precipitous descent towards the east side of the plains was now made, and then their troubles began. It became evident that the Maoris were little better than blind guides. "That," said they, pointing to the distant Taieri river, "is our highway, and we know of no other." When this highway was reached, or rather the Owhiro creek leading into it, they were disappointed in not meeting with an expected canoe. So on they struggled and plunged over the roughest ground and through the tussock swamps, often up to the middle in water.

The first night was passed in the shelter of a small bush, whose last few trees yet remain. The march was continued close by the river's left bank until further progress was blocked by the river itself where it suddenly turns down its narrow gorge to the sea. There was no possibility of crossing it, so the steep hills to the left were scaled under every difficulty, and in the teeth of cutting showers of sleet. The miserable Maoris were ready to cry; they sat down and tore up their shirts to make a protection for their legs from the sharp grass and thorns. Late in the afternoon they reached the mouth of the Taieri river, where they enjoyed the comfortable rest and shelter afforded by a cavern. Assisted by the whalers on the adjacent island of Moturata, they crossed the river, and then walked by the beach to the Matau or Molyneux. Three days were occupied in traversing this distance of 30 miles. Here an interesting and important discovery was made—that of a black cliff, now known as the Kaitangata coal seam. Crossing the Matau in a Maori's boat, they found the faithful Deborah awaiting them. Of this district Mr. Tuckett writes in the letter appended in terms of the highest praise, and it is evident that but for the shallow soundings on the river bar—twelve feet at low water —the chief town and harbour of the settlement would have been placed in the Molyneux district. The letter abundantly shows what care and judgment were exercised. At this time there were two Europeans residing there—George Willsher and Russell—the name of the former being yet retained in Willsher Bay. During the great land-sharking period, just about or prior to the time when the British Government took formal possession of New Zealand, Mr. John Jones, of Sydney, effected a purchase, such as it was, from the natives in this district of a block of land of twenty miles square, and sent down Willsher as his page 51agent in 1842. Russell was a sub-purchaser. At one time there had been a whaling-station here, belonging to the late Edward Palmer, and quite a large native population of over 2000. These, however, had dwindled down to a very few in number, wretched, ill-fed and ill-clothed. A terrible mortality occurred amongst them from an epidemic of measles, which was brought by Tupi, a nephew of Te Pehi, in one of the whaling vessels from Sydney in 1835. Measly Beach, near the mouth of the Tokomairiro river, derives its unsavory name from this incident. The afflicted natives, of course, ignorant as to the nature of their disease, sought to relieve the fever accompanying it by exposure to the cold air, or by sitting up to the neck in water. No wonder, then, that of three large war canoes on that river there was but crew enough left to man one. Such is the statement of Mr. Palmer. In his private journal Mr. Barnicoat gives an interesting account of his sojourn at the Molyneux Bay whilst awaiting his chief. He refers to the legend connected with that lofty over-hanging rock which projects into the Taieri river, and which is known to all who pass it as the Maori Leap. The statement is that a Maori warrior, hard pressed by his enemies, plunged from it into the deep waters beneath, and so escaped his sure fate by swimming across the broad current to the other side, But this is incorrect, and it is worth while rescuing from oblivion the real, though sorrowful legend, and investing therewith the lovely Taieri with its rightful claim to classicality. The song was a great favourite with the natives all up and down the coast, and Mr. Barnicoat heard them chaunt it in their monotonous, dirge-like way, whilst sitting round the fires by the mouth of the great Matau, whose waters in their unvarying cadence formed a most fitting accompaniment. As with her fair sister, so with this Maori maiden—the course of true love did not run smooth. In secret she had given her heart to a young man of her own choice, whilst her parents urged her to marry one whom she abhorred. In vain did she plead with them; her prayers and tears were of no avail, and Fate was inexorable. Death's friendly hand pointed out her only avenue of escape, and she elected to take it, by springing from this lofty rock into the dark waters below, and so ending her miserable life. To her sister she communicated her secret, and sought her assistance. The two started together on their mournful journey, the sister alone returning. When asked what had become of the missing one, she replied by plaintively singing a few page 52lines composed by her sister a few days before, and which in simple words recited the sad story. Again pressed, she again answered in the same way. Search was then made and the lifeless body—love's sacrifice—discovered. The air was sweet and plaintive, and whilst singing it the women would commonly fall into tears. The rest of Mr. Tuckett's journey south was performed chiefly overland, partly by whaleboat, and when necessity arose by the Deborah, which followed him down the coast like a trusty dog at his master's heels. With the adjacent country he was highly pleased, though there were no indications that his first choice would be superseded.

Owing to the bad weather the Deborah sailed from off the Mataura to Ruapuke Island. Here Mr. Wöhlers decided to fix his abode and commence his missionary labours. He had learnt that in no part of southern New Zealand was there so large a native population within so small a compass as here. The delight of the natives was intense on hearing that Mr. Wöhlers had come to reside amongst them, probably for the remainder of his lifetime. They dragged the whaleboat up on the beach, crowded round him, everyone vociferously talking, shaking hands, and nose rubbing. His baggage, himself, and the whole party were marched off by the crowd to the residence of the principal chief, to whom Mr. Wöhlers presented his letter of introduction from some brother missionary. This was read aloud to the clustering crowd amidst great rejoicing. In the afternoon the rest of the party returned to the Deborah, now bound for the Bluff and the New river, leaving behind them their fellow-voyager in the midst of his already firm though new-found friends. As previously stated, he died in 1885, after forty-two years of labour and success upon the little island where so long ago he landed in the prime of manhood. For many years he corresponded with Mr. Tuckett, with whom he formed a lasting friendship on board the little schooner.

The travellers now entered that large estuary named the Waihopai, at whose upper part is situated the town of Invercargill, and into which debouch the Waihopai and the Oreti or New river. Whilst anchored here, Mr. Tuckett visited the Bluff and the Aparima or Jacob's river, so-called after an old native named Jacob who lived at its mouth. Here the very pretty little town of Riverton is situated. With the latter district he was highly pleased, its well-known succession of gentle slopes with open land or bush stretching far into the interior proving a most page 53agreeable picture. He did not, however, consider the land so good as much that he had seen nearer Otago, and the climate appeared to be much more severe. Captain Stevens, one of the last surviving old whalers, and a resident at Riverton, says that he well remembers accompanying Mr. Tuckett a few miles inland, who was armed with a spade, with which at intervals he examined the character of the soil. It is certain that the whole of this district, with the Bluff as its harbour, offered such attractive claims as to give Mr. Tuckett again some difficulty in deciding as to where his ultimate choice would lie. Three days were spent at Stewart Island, the furthermost point of the exploration. Here was the comparatively large population of about seventy white people, with the same number of natives, inhabiting comfortable cottages, tilling the soil, and having the air of a well-to-do people.

And now, on the 1st of June, the return journey commenced, and the Deborah turned her head to the northward, making a splendid run of ten knots an hour to the Molyneux, where she anchored. From this point Mr. Tuckett, who was desirous of becoming better acquainted with the interior of the country, decided to make his way to Otago by leaving the coastline and striking inland. Two native guides were hired, and by their intelligence did much to beguile the toilsome way. The baggage was sent up the river by boat, and on Sunday afternoon, the 2nd of June, the party started. It consisted of Messrs. Tuckett, Barnicoat, Wilkinson, and Dr. Monro, besides the guides. By night they had walked twelve miles, camping near the Puerua. The next day they made Iwikatea, where is now Balclutha, and where the magnificent Matau divides into its two branches of Matau and Koau, which again joining enclose the fruitful island of Inch Clutha, then called after its owner, in the refined language of the whaler, Bloody Jack's Island. The fertile appearance of this neighbourhood struck all. The river crossed, a wearisome march began. The guides, as aforetime, did not know, or had forgotten, the way, and the unfortunate travellers plodded on for mile after mile through that weary swamp by the side of the Kaitangata and Rangitoto lakes. They were up to the knees in ice-cold water, and when a halt was called could only get a few flax stalks wherewith to make a fire. In the names of these lakes is commemorated a fierce tribal fight and its sequence; the "bloody day" was spent by the side of Rangitoto, the cannibal feast which followed, the "man-page 54food," was enjoyed by Kaitangata. The night was miserably spent, with no other shelter than that afforded by a little valley. The sole comforts of this miserable night were boiled ducks and billy-boiled tea, unless one might add that the soaking clothes and boots were thoroughly dried, if not by fire, at least by frost. The route now pursued was over the Tokomairiro plains to the Waihola lake and thence to the banks of the Taieri, almost opposite the spot where a month before Mr. Tuckett and Dr. Monro on the downward journey found their progress stopped by the river. Down the Taieri they descended in a canoe, and from its mouth walked along the beach, crossing, of course, the Otakia stream near Brighton and the Kaikorai in the Green Island district.

Fortunately the journey was so near its end, for they were in sad plight, footsore and destitute of provisions. The natives, however, ever fertile in expedients, caught a rat, cut some blubber from a stranded whale, and added a few pieces of a cuttlefish which had been left on the beach by the tide; these well mixed with a few potatoes, some wild, native cabbage, and above all the optimum condimentum added, made a most sumptuous repast. One native piously said grace over it; the other fervently added "Amen." According to instructions the whaleboat met the weary travellers at the head of the Otago harbour, and in safety carried them down to the Deborah's side. So, on the 11th of June, ended this memorable expedition—ten days from the Molyneux, and more than ten weeks from its start. And with this ending was the real beginning of New Edinburgh. Hitherto it had existed but in name; now it had a local habitation also. To-day the story of a trip from Nelson to the Bluff would excite little interest. Fifty-five years ago it was the absorbing history of a toilsome exploration through wild solitudes untrodden before by the foot of civilised man.