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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 12, Issue 8 (November 1, 1937)

Variety in Brief

page 62

Variety in Brief

To-day, even though I am of the feminine sex, and in the “middle forties,” a railway engine still has an attraction for me. Many years ago my father was the driver of the Waihi Goldmining Company's quartz train between Waihi and Waikino, and as there was no railway nearer than Paeroa, I was the envy of all the children in the settlement, as I often rode on the engine (sometimes all day) and pulled the whistle long and loud. I was envied by the children for another reason, too, as I was often the possessor of broken steam gauges. These same trifles often made me the recipient of sundry tit-bits, such as a stick of peppermint, a half-penny, or a bite of an apple in return for a small length of the glass tubing. I also had an uncle a driver on the Auckland-Waikato run. As many of these children had never seen or been on a passenger train, I used to recite all the imaginary hair-breath encounters that he had with ghosts when thundering along on his engine in the dead of night past Taupiri Mt. and the broad Waikato.—Helena M.

* * *

New Zealand seems too young a country to be associated with hidden treasure or anything of the kind, but hidden treasure there certainly is—in two places at least. Somewhere near the old Poronu Redoubt, a few miles inland from Whakatane, is what is still referred to as “The Frenchman's Gold.” The story of its origin brings back memories of what James Cowan, in his history of the Maori Wars, rightfully refers to as one of the most heroic acts in old New Zealand history—the defence of Poronu from Te Kooti's raiders. In those troublesome times, the small fort adjoined a mill, run by one Jean Guerren. Under his capable management, the mill had proved a prosperous little concern. When the siege commenced, Jean proved his ability as a soldier also. He had with him only four Maoris, two of them women, yet, with their assistance he inflicted such heavy punishment on the enemy that they were led to believe a force, many times the size opposed them. The brave Frenchman was eventually killed in the doorway of the Redoubt fighting desperately against overwhelming odds. With him died the secret of his money, for it was well-known that Guerren had a hiding place near by which he regularly used for the safe keeping of the not inconsiderable sums of gold which passed through his hands. Following the taking of the Fort, Peka (Baker), Te Kooti's most bloodthirsty henchman, is said to have ordered a thorough search for the hoard, and that his rage at the failure to find anything at all was not altogether a pleasing spectacle. On many occasions since that tragic day the sites of both Mill and Redoubt have been “investigated”—with every likely implement from spade to gum spear. But the cache has never been discovered…‥

The western end of Kapiti Island, where traces of the old - time whalers may still be seen, holds another secret. It was in the days when Te Rauparaha was at the height of his power, and the many visiting whalers were encouraged to make Kapiti a base for their operations. Following a successful cruise, there would be much revelry on the beaches, where huge fires had been kindled, and much gold (and much rum) would be passed about. On one such night there was a great deal of gambling amongst the crews ashore. A seaman from an American ship met with a most stupendous run of luck, the result being that he found himself the owner of all the gold the gamblers had. It is stated that the winnings “filled a small pot.” The story has it that “with the help of a comrade” the seaman carried the winnings along the beach outside the ring of firelight. The two were away for a time, and then returned—with an empty pot. A few days later, both the sailor and his mate were drowned during a clash with a wounded whale. Diligent but unsuccessful search was afterwards made for the hiding place, and for years afterwards the crew of each visiting whaleship wasted much time and energy in combing that part of the Island. No trace has ever been found. The suggestion is that the gold lies under one or other of the beaches, deeply and more deeply buried by each high tide that has passed over it since its burial in those hectic days of long ago. I heard the tale first of all from an old Maori who lived near the Otaki Beach. He assured me that in his younger days, the facts stated were common property with his people. None of them, however, had ever attempted a treasure hunt, the reason being that in some way they regarded the hidden gold as much accursed.

—Hori M.

* * *

In the usual rush for a drink of tea at a railway tea-rooms, I happened to be speaking to one of the Springboks. He commented on the prevalence of the tea drinking habit in New Zealand, stating that it was by no means the same in Africa where coffee, and even cocoa, were definite rivals. Also some local drink, the name of which I have forgotten.

“I hear that in New Zealand,” the South African commented, “you have even named an island after your national beverage.” I told him I had never heard of the place.

“You must know it,” he insisted. “It's a bird sanctuary up the coast from Wellington; ‘Cup-o-Tea Island.’” And then, of course, I recognised “Kapiti Island.”