THE LOAFER IN THE STREET.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1990, 10 July 1880, Page 3

THE LOAFER IN THE STREET.

We left Picton shortly after daylight on 1 June 11th. The complement was as follows ; ' —Mr Redwood (Admiral), Captain Mao Neill j (nayigator and naval instructor), Yours truly f (head serang of the rous-abonts and inspector t of medical comforts). These formed the j fore-cabin contingent. Aft there was Dan i (sailing master, purser, &o,), Jack (engineer), ) and J. Pilkington (steward and chef de cui- ( sine). Of the admiral’s merits as a bon ( camarade I have. I think, alluded in former \ papers, while Captain Mac Neill, who has for t many years t “ Beheld the tbreaden sail 1 Borne by the creeping and invisible t wind, i Draw huge bottoms through the fur- \ rowed sea, i Breasting the lofty surge,” 1 Was the most entertaining and best informed J of shipmates. 1 must not forget the canine * passengers, who were two in number. There * were Dash, a very handsome Irish setter, and J Jack, a stolid looking house puppy, half * painter and setter. The latter was a most • original character. He had not the slightest J -taste for yachting, and when there was any 1 .sea on was probably the moat melancholy 1 object on the surface of the known globe. ’ We ran down Queen Charlotte’s Sound, the •* -water being as smooth as a mill pond, and the 1 weather charming, past Q-olden Point, where J there was once a gold mine.” 1 wonder J how many places in the colonies there are f whose history could not be similarly sum- 1 mariaed. As we steam down the Sound we E pass bay after bay and inlet after inlet, and c about nearly all of them the Admiral or 1 Dan had some story to tell. Habitations are ' -vary scarce, but the scenery here, as everywhere f •else in the Sounds, is very beautiful. I never recollect seeing the variety of tints, for which Hew Zealand foliage is so remarkable, appear 1 to more advantage. JThe English beer, too, t was grand, though there was a sadness about I the libation consequent on a feeling of un- i certainty about my inward feelings later in i the day. Still there can be no question that ( on a fine day, with smooth water, yon can I appreciate scenery ever so much better from t the deck of a boat when a glass of beer is i supporting you, so to spsak. Some globe 1 trotters pass their time in climbing up big i mountains. Never be led into such folly, i Photographs give you a heap more ideas on 3 mountain tops than you could possibly get your- i self. We passed the Bay of Many Coves, 1 Cannibal Bay, and a heap of others. In re- ( fsrence to the last named, the navigator tells e a good story. In early days the Maoris in i those parts got converted by a missionary, ( who taught his proselytes, amongst other ] things, to fast on saints days. It befel that < a season of dearth affected this part of the < island, and the pastor being of sleek and j rotund appearance, and the flesh pots being i empty, the grateful Maoris resolved to lunch i off him. He was duly slain and cooked, but i just when the repast was about to commence 1 the chief suddenly recollected that it was a fast day. Regretfully he stated this fact to I the hungry tribe, who, still faithful to the i tenets of their beloved pastor, kept the fast and ate him for breakfast next morning. We next passed Ship Cove. This, I understand, ; ■was where Captain Cook careened his ships. Cook was the finest navigator of his time, I on’t know what wages he got, but good cooks are still scarce, and can easy get £SO a year in this place, stone broke as it is. Sailoring now is different to Cook’s time. Cook’s discoveries were almost nvariably useful, and his expeditions inexpensive, and carried through without much loss of life. We do things quite differently now. We build iron coflxns of goodness knows how many thousand tons, and costing thousands of pounds, and as fast as they go down with all hands wa build another with what the inTentor considers "fresh improvements.” Captain Cook founded the wild pig on these shores. This deed should never be forgotten by a people like the present race, those who seem unable to master the rudiments of making good bacon. We now approached Jackson’s Head, the farthest point of land here. There is a gold mine here, from which some good gold has been taken, and the workings, which are still in progress, can be seen from seaward. There is also off this rocky headland what is called a tide rip. The swell, which had been gradually increasing, seemed to surge all roads. Waves acting apparently each on his own account, strove who should smack the yacht hardest. The sea was like a seething cauldron. It was just about then I began to feel as if ten able blacksmiths were trying to rivet a few thousand tons of iron round my bead. Subsequently I got an idea that the Thames Bumping Association had bought my inside, and were employing the full force of their machinery to bring it up. I didn’t know which was the achingest void, the world or my inside. Yachting was a hollow mockery, and I envied even the unhappy wretch who I believe that day was reporting an up-county ploughing match. Jack, the dog, in abject misery, and looking like the ghost of a half boiled rock cod, was heaving stomachic treasures alongside of me, and then I heard the admiral say, “ There are times when you can feel the whole force of the Southern ocean in this spot.” Indeed yes I thought. Stimulants were hospitably proffered which— I know the boys won’t believe it—were refused When Dan heard such was the case ha observed, “My word, he must be crooked.” He spoke the truth. We passed Gore Bay and Alligator Head, and I fancied amid the paroxysms I heard some one say the Rangitoto was somewhere above, about Jackson’s. 1 thought the passengers

I were to be envied. They did get ashore. By and by we got into calmer water, and passing through a lot of islands of various sizes, some of which have a few sheep on them, we crossed one of the entrances to Pelorus Sound and after making further acquaintance with some rips we steamed up Admiralty Bay to the French Pass. I won’t tell you about this extraordinary place. It would be unkind. Every year some fellow comes through and writes about it to the papers. Why should I make a fool of myself by trying to tell you what has been told me 100 times before and will bo described annually for the next century. After getting through we run up Current Basin, D’Urville’s Island being on the right. Passing a lot of very ugly looking rooks and a low-lying headland, on which is to be seen the grave of Toreae, a former chief of D’Urville’s Island, we enter once mere the open sea, and shaping our course to the right, we steam up the coast of D’Urville’s Island en route for Greville’s Harbor, which is to be our anchorage for the night. A wilder coast I never saw. Dark, hungry looking cliffs show perpendicularly down to the sea, which, fathoms deep, at their very base breaks against them. Bocks of every shape are frequent about a mile from the shore, and curious caves, through which the waves rush with tremendous force, make it a place which, however picturesque, you are better away from unless you know your road. We had a fair wind, and hoisted sail. Dan requested me to ease off the jib sheet. I rushed to the rope that looked most like what I should say a jib sheet should be, and eased it off. It was, alas, the peak halyards of some other sail, and—there was merriment aboard. I will observe that the ropes don’t seem placed where they were in my young days. We ran j into Q-reville’s Harbor, anchored, and got all snug shortly after dark. Early to bed and early to rise was supposed to be our mot d'ordre, but the Captain’s increasing flow of anecdote kept us up pretty late. What between his yarns and the Admiral’s I could write a new chapter in the “ Nodes Ambrosian®.” Greville’s Harbor is a fine roomy place and well sheltered, but to obtain perfect immunity from the swell' brought in by some winds it is advisable to make the inner harbor, which is formed by a boulder bank about two miles from the first entrance. Here there is a rip very like the French Pass, but once through that, the water is like a looking-glass. In the morning we got up steam and ran up to the very furthest point a distance of several miles. On either side are thickly timbered hills, with some of the biggest manuka in New Zealand. We anchored near a little flat and landed, taking the guns. We saw plenty of fresh tracks of both pigs and wild cattle. The former are very numerous, but we saw no game of any sort. We then returned on board, and " went a fishing.” Talk of fish ! Inside half an hour we had over fifty fine rook cod and kawai. (N.B. —A rock cod plumped in the pot fresh from his |oapture is immense.) In the afternoon we landed on the boulder bank and shot several redbills, a paradise duck, some crested shag. I found the Admiral’s hand still retains its cunning, and he made rare shooting. Next day we intended to make for N elson, to pick up a fresh passenger, and started with that intent. But it blew. Lord, how it blew, and how the Pinafore jumped about! I tried the engineroom, but “ Sing ho, the scented oil Bag And the Tar,” It was too thick, and my soul only revfved within me when we ran into the Croiselles harbor. This, like Greville’a harbor, has plenty of snug places for anchorage, and we stowed ourselves away in Hunikiua Bay, just about as pretty a place as you would wish to see. Landing on a beautiful beach, our explorations showed us that this at one time must have been a good sized Maori settlement, for we came across lots of old gardens and several war canoes, probably built scores of years before the whites ever came to New Zealand. At the back of the little flat where the gardens were was a big salt water lagoon, and in the distance wo could see one or two Maori whares. It was quite evident, from the style of the dogs, that game was afoot, and we shortly flushed a fine bevy of Californian quail. They rose at our very feet. It is probably owing to that circumstance that I killed one. You have always got to be smart with quail. The one I shot never got away further than about eight feet from the deadly tube handled with such precision by yours truly. He was returned to me by the dog Jack a bunch of feathers. I wouldn’t like to say that dog was laughing, but he sort of smiled in a sarcastic style. The Admiral shot about four brace, I adopted a style of sport you will always find pan out well when shooting with an artist. Always fire when he does. It’s a point less in favor of the bird, and when the day is over you can say in reply to any questions about what sport you have had, “ Well, me have shot so many,” We had another turn at the quail in the morning, but they were all amongst the timber, aud we had to give it best after dropping one or two. We started for Nelson. The day was charming, but the steward, who was the weather prophet of the show, said it was going to blow.

“ Clear as a bell. Blow like Well anything you please. The above I’m told is the only poem over composed in Nelson, It’s brief, but true. We had a fine run up to Nelson, however, and some good fun shag shooting on the way. We passed Cable Bay. Somewhere here resides a Maori lady of the name of Julia. She is a sort of aboriginal Grace Darling. Some years ago a ship called the Delaware was wrecked in the vicinity, and Julia swam off with a rope to the wreck, thus saving all hands. This was rather nice oi Julia. Nelson docs not alter much. I met Captain Cross on the wharf, and if I were to go to Nelson in fifty years’ time I believe I should see him exactly in the same place. A now recruit joined the ship here, Mr John Kerr, and a very warm recruit at that. Of him more anon. In company with this gentleman as guide, philosopher, and friend, we visited first the comfortable hostelrie of my old friend Ben Osborne, and afterwards the township of Nelson. We proceeded thither in the lightning tram drawn by a supercilious looking steed, who towed up about two knots faster an hour than you are usually in the habit of travelling by train. Last time I was in Nelson I went with some of the boys up to the town. One of our party declined to accompany us on the ground there would be too much drinking. On our return to Port, in the evening, cur friend was truly jocund, and it was evident he had been taking some of those drinks which are popularly supposed to make glad the heart of man, but which frequently have an opposite result. “ Old ’un," I said, “why these Bacchanalian beams about your classic lamps ? Why these spiritual smiles ? ” He explained that he not been fooling about drinking round the town, but had ridden all day long backwards and forwards in the tramway. As the distance is only about a mile, and as he recruited exhausted nature with a pint of beer at each end, his jocundity was easily accountable. As we neared what may be called the tramway terminus we observed our Jehu give the foaming untamed steed several terrific rib-twisters. On enquiry he told ns this was to wake the horse up. " All 'oases sleeps at their work here," he said, “so do a good many of the people. The climate is that henervating like.” There was a big excitement on while wo were in Nelson. This was the Adams’ Law Case. I will here observe I know nothing whatever of the facts, except that MrJAdams won, and that generally it appeared to be considered, as the little girl said of the battle of Blenheim, “a famous victory.” Every man, woman, child, and dog in Nelson seems to know Mr Kerr, and I reckon at least 700 people discussed him on the Adams question. At Menary’s Hotel (good boy Menary, go and see him when you go to Nelson) seventeen people were discussing the case over seventeen ' glasses of Mcnary’s excellent beer. In a subsequent part of this really interesting series I shall have occasion to allude to the Maoris resident on D’Urville’s Island. The chief is an aged orphan of over, I should say, 120 summers. He speaks, with the exception of the word “Baccy,” no English at all. He talked in Maori to Mr Kerr in a very excited manner on one occasion. I asked what was up. “ Oh, he only wants to know about Adams,” said Kerr. We were running eventually down to Nelson, when a schooner, apparently in distress, bore up close to us, and I was fully expecting the captain to tell us he was sinking, when he said, “Have you heard how Adams’ cose has gone ? ” Einally, not to “drag out this thing too much,” the day I left I was breakfasting at Osborne’s, and next mo sat a nice dapper-looking old gentleman, who, from his conversation, I took for a savant on the globe trot. Presently he said, “I’ve been up hero to make a special report of this big Adams’ case for the ‘ Law Societies’ Journal.’ And then I