A NARRATIVE OF THE JOURNEY TO THE WEST COAST, CONDUCTED BY THE LATE MR. WHITCOMBE.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume III, Issue 138, 4 September 1863, Page 5 (Supplement)

A NARRATIVE OF THE JOURNEY TO THE WEST COAST, CONDUCTED BY THE LATE MR. WHITCOMBE.

(Translated for the Lyttelton Times, from the German manuscript of the survivor, Jacob Loupee). [Continued from our last]. Os the following day wc could hear the noise of the sea; we came to a deep river also coming in from the North, with thick, black water, almost motionless, but very deep. I cut a long pole to try the depth, but could not reach the bottom—it was over twenty feet deep. I wanted to follow the river and find a ford, but he would not; he said he could easily swim across, then I could fasten the packs to the rope for him to drag over, he would then throw the end of the line

back to me, which I could take in mj mouth, and thus swim across easily. He began immediately to undress, while 1 walked along the bank, and perceived a small tree lying about four feet under water, right across. 1 came back quickly and told him what I had found, and that 1 would prefer trying to cross on the tree than to swim. I took the swag on my back, and went very carefully over on the log; I got over safe, and he followed me at once, with equal success. Now, in going through the forest wc heard the sea distinctly ; about midnight we thought we saw the shore, but it was only a line of small scrub; we had made a mistake; we camped again in the bush. The next day we had to cross a low hill. I slid down about ten feet into Hie bed of liie river, when the bag in which 1 carried the biscuits caught in a branch, which tore it in two, losing some of our remaining dough, such a misfortune had happened once before. We reached a very swampy place and had to make a circuit of many miles through dense scrub, which scratched and tore our hands and faces ; weary to death we lay down and were half frozen with the cold all night. I had not the energy to make a fire. The next day we met the same difficulties, going through briars and deep swamps trying to reach the the sea, but iu vain; and night overtook us. We could, however, now see the sea-shore distinctly ; it could not be more than five or six miles from us. Mr. Whitcombe found to-day a very beautiful stone, of a greyish color, nearly transparent, with red veins; he brought it with him ; it was not quartz, but looked more like marble. We had to camp again in the bush—the rain was ceaseless. There was nothing we could catch to eat; all that remained was about a handful of dough, which would have been uneatable if we had anything else. Mr. Whitccmbo said we had better finish it. There was not half enough for one man, and we had hopes to find a Maori on the beach who had supplied Drake and me with eels and potatoes ; we could not sleep, we were so cold. The next morning we continued on through the densest bush without any breakfast; it took us the whole day to reach the sea-shore, which we did about four o’clock, the weather clearing up a bit. I recognized the place, having been there once before, it was the river ITukat?ka which we had come down ; we were very hungry, but in good spirits ; our sufferings ought now soon to cease. Wc made a largo fire and dried ourselves ; wc also dried the blankets for the first time in thirteen days—the time it took us to reach the sea after leaving the Kakaia. We had been soaking wet all the time. During the whole journey we had not caught anything, but we hud not lost any time in trying. I had formerly learnt from the Maories how to make a sharp noise with a grass-leaf, resembling the cry of a wood-hen, and while Mr. Drake had enticed and caught many by this moans, here no wooilhens were to bo seen or heard ; we saw many tracks of dogs in the sand. I asked the Maories afterwards what tracks these were ; they said they were those of wild dogs, which had caught all the wood-hens iu the neighborhood. Wc got everything dry about midnight, and, as wo were annoyed by a very strong wind, we went to an old Maori hut wo found there, and slept in it. Next day wc followed the beach to the Hrumier River, about six miles off. How different it was, walking on a firm sandy beach, in the warm sunshine. We soon arrived at the river. I knew we could not cross till tide was at the lowest, which would not occur till nightfall. We came to a Maori pa, but our hopes were disappointed—the hut of the friendly Maori was burnt down, and he had gone away. There was one oilier hut standing, in which was a number of odds and ends, tools, &c. We searched carefully for something to eat, but in vain—the Maories had not left a morsel. I then took an old spade, and went to the potato garden, searched the whole plot, digging everywhere, but found only a handful of very small potatoes and another handful of Maori cabbage. I had spent nearly two hours in this manner. Mr. Whitcombe had laid down in the sun, and fell asleep ; when ho woke up. I showed him the result. He said it was not much, but better than none. I made a fire on the spot where the old hut had been burnt down, and where the most wood was to be found, and cooked the potatoes and cabbage. While they were boiling, I sat down by his side. He began to speak, looked in my face, and said, “ You have lost a good deal of flesh, Jacob ; how do I look ? I feel very weak and hungry.” I looked at him, but did not tell him the truth, saying he did not look so very bad ; but in reality, he could not be recognized—his eyes were sunk deep in his head, his lips were white, and his face as yellow as a wax figure ; you could so to speak, almost see his teeth through his checks. He said he would soon improve. We ate the potatoes and cabbage, the last little meal we ever took together. I told him afterwards that I knew a spot where, at dead low water, we could get as many mussels as we liked, but it was impossible to reach them before night. I proposed we should remain here at night, but Mr. Whitcombe opposed it; he wished to try and cross the river at once, and the same evening go on to the Teramakau which was nine miles oil'. The rain commenced again ; Mr. Whitcombe was very restless, so we gathered our tilings together, and tried to cross ; but as I (old him, it was much too early ; the backwater had not yet run out, and was everywhere over six feet deep. We sat down in the drenching rain, and waited about an hour, when he asked me to try again, but still no use. I fried in two different different places in vain. This annoyed him very much, and he said to me, “ Jacob, we must do our very best to get over ; I am harassed through hunger, cold, wet, sand-flies, and fleas ; we must get out of this misery as soon as possible.” Half an hour later wo tried again, going up to the armpits in the water ; it was not very rapid so we accomplished it after much trouble. He held fast to the stick in my hands, otherwise he would not have been able to cross. It was nearly night, so we stepped out quick along the strand ; it soon became very dark, but we could not stop ; the beach was solid and level, making good travelling ground We arrived shortly after midnight at Teramakau. I succeeded, notwithstanding the heavy rain, in making a fire—a large one—as there was abundance of drift-wood. We lay down, and

slept a little. Next morning was fine. We looked round, but neither saw nor heard anyone. Wo could see the Maorj pa distinctly on the other side, but no smoke ascended from it—a proof (hat no one was living there ; neither was there any sign of Captain Dixon’s ship—all seemed deserted. Numbers of pigeons flew about the forest, and we repented bitterly that we had not brought a gun with us. After looking about us for an hour, he said to me, “You see, Jacob, there is no one here to give us any assistance : we must get across somehow, or we shall bo starved to death.” I told him that it was quite impossible to cross ; tbe only thing we could do was to follow up the river through the bush ; we might surely catch enough wood-liens or other birds to keep us alive, lie replied, “ I cannot possibly go through the bush any more ; I ain too weak.” He sat down, and continued : “ I shall not take to the bush again ; if I do not find Dixon’s ship at the Grey, I shall take a Maori with me to the Duller; there vessels arrive frequently ; I shall then go to Nelson, and buy as much provisions for you as you like ; you can then go to the Terainakau saddle, and return with the two men and horses, who are waiting for us there to take us back to Christchurch.” Then, rising up, he said, “ We must try and find something to take us on ; I think two good dry logs tied together with flax will answer well enough.” No, I said, it will not answer ; I have crossed this river twice when there were five of us and a Maori, and we had nevertheless the greatest difficulty. Hie river is rapid, broad, and deep, and once in the stream, the current will take us out among the breakers, when we are lost. It is bettor for°you to remain by the fire while I go in the bush and try and catch something. Perhaps some Maories or diggers may come down the river, or come from the Grey ; the Maories are alwavs wandering about, lie did not like this arrangement, and said, “ If I was not so weak, I could easily swim across ; I have swam over worse places than this, but a raft will answer the purpose ; it would take too long to make a magie ; it does not look at all dangerous.” I made no answer, I saw that he was annoyed at my opposition, and remained sitting. Ho went round looking for the logs of wood to form a raft. I determined in the meantime to do my best to dissuade him from this dangerous experiment. Suddenly he cried out, “Hurrah 1 hurrah ! Jacob.” 1 could not conceive what was the matter, so I jumped up and ran to him. “ Now,” said he, “ we have a canoe to carry us over.” In reality a canoe lay at his feet, but it was useless ; it was about ten or twelve feet long, and one foot wide; the inside was not more than eight inches deep, the higher sideboards were missing. I-told him it would not take over a cat, much less two men. “ You are right,” he said, “ it is too bad, but further on lies another canoe; we shall make them fast together, and there is no clanger.’ 1 “Oh,” said I, “ I saw that canoe also ; the bow is broken oil’.” “ That can be easily mended,” he answered, “ let us have a look at it.” I went will) him to see it; it Jay alongside an old lint, and was no better than a bit of rotten log, about seven feet long, but a little broader and deeper than the other. As I hesitated to lay hands on it, he seemed much annoyed, and said, in a reproachful tone, “I always thought, Jacob, that you feared nothing, but now I see I was mistaken ; if we tie these two canoes together there can be no danger ; besides, I am a good swimmer, and if we meet with any misfortune, I can assist yon.” I told him again I was a very bad swimmer, and therefore dreaded much to cross in this manner. But on account, of his displeasure, and the peculiar circumstances in which we were placed, I no longer opposed him. I got to work immediately ; put a piece of board on the damaged spots of the canoes, bound tight with flax, stopping up the holes as well as possible with some rags we found in the hut; then I made two paddles and two steering poles. We took it to the lagoon where the other lay to dry it. He sat down in it and paddled down the still water ; it floated barely an inch and a half above the level of the water. When lie arrived alongside the other canoe he said, “You see, now, you were afraid without just cause ; both will carry us quite safely ;” he spoke in a very friendly tone. I made no answer, but 1 felt my heart beating violently, greatly fearing the result. Mr. Whitcombe was in a great hurry to cross, so we hound both canoes together, and made all the other necessary preparations. In the middle of the river lies a small r ‘ island. We determined to ascend the river by the side, where the water was comparatively still, then from a projecting rock, where v ' could no longer remain in quiet water, push off to the island, go round this and steer for the opposite bank. I had made this passage twice before, but we had then a good boat, beside five men. So we stepped in and laid the swag in the bottom ; I took the steering polo in my bauds and pushed off from the shore. As long as wo were in smooth water all went well—the canoes floated about an inch and a half above the surface. I placed myself in the longest canoe, on the oil' side ; he in the other at the opposite end. 1 steered, while he bailed the water out as it came in with a pannikin, but kept the billy alongside in case it came in quicker: thus wo readied the rocky point; the water came in more rapidly ; he had to bale fast; I could see that when we reached the rapid current, we would not be able to withstand it. 1 said to him in tones of entreaty, “ Oh, Mr. Whitcombe, let us return, the water comes in too fast, I am greatly afraid.” “ Turn hack ! Jacob,” he said, “ what are you thinking about, it is going all right, it could not be bettor ; steer to the island, and then round it, there is no danger whatever.” I drew off my coat to work better, laid the steering pole in the bot tom of the canoe, as I could no longer reach the bottom, and commenced to paddle the canoes into the stream ; but we had not got many yards in the current before the canoes filled quickly with water. Mr. Whitcombe called out, “Jacob, bail out the water, the canoes are full. I let fall the paddle, seized my leather cap, and began to bail, but in vain ; in a moment the canoes were a foot below the water, and sinking fast; they drifted into the middle of the stream, and in another instant were three feet below the surface, and carried rapidly towards the breakers. Mr. Whitcombe seeing the danger, cried out, “ Wo are lost, Jacob, and it is all my fault ; leave the canoes, swim to this side, it is not far to the

shore ; follow me, quick ! quick! or you .■will bo drowned.” So saying, he took off bis coat, and threw it into the water, then took a great leap into the stream. 1 lie recoil of the kick, over* turned the canoes, and they turned sideways iu the water. I saw him afterwards swimming with powerful strokes in the direction of the south side, from whence he had started, and which was still the nearest. I had no doubt he would save him-elf, but I thought I was lost—lost beyond all hope. I held fast to the poles which bound the canoes together. I would not let go an end of flax, rolling it three or four times round my left hand. I could no longer keep my head above water, the canoes sank so deep ; they were turned upside down in the i^id-channel; presently they rose a little. I looked about for an instant; 1 was just at the foot of the first breaker, about to bear me up high in the water ; I felt ray hair stand on end ; I bent down close to the canoes, deep in the water, cramped up tight, when the first wave broke, showing me another following it up from the depth of the sea, and rolling towards the beach, getting higher and higher; when they get nearly perpendicular they topple over ; this first one broke on top of me, burying me deep in the sea ; but the second bore up the canoes, bearing me on the crest of a wave ; in an instant the canoes, were turned over so rapidly that had I not wrapped the flax several times round my hand I must have lost the canoes, my right hand liavslipped, but they rolled over and over, giving me once such a severe blow on the head that I thought my scull was broken ; another time on the back and my left arm was so twisted that I thought it was broken. I now perceived that I must not got on fop of the canoes if I wished to avoid being beaten to death ; I could rest my head and breast on them a little, and sink below the surface when the waves broke, when they could not strike me so hard ; the canoes kept themselves quieter when they were turned upside down. After a while it got calmer ; stiii the sea ran hi<»h, throwing me hither and thither; I got an instant to look about me, but the night was very dark, and the rain was falling fast. Thus I drifted about for some hours in the sea, nearly benumbed and so swollen nn from s-ivr.!!.-." : - n. _ . IV4 ou o*»waui up iiuai otiuuuffitij; me suit water that 1 could scarcely breathe. My whole body was sore from the blows I got from the canoes ; I had no hopes of being saved ; I thought that” if I lived till morning, I should be so far out to sea, that I must starve. A feeling of desperation overcame me, and I determined to end my sufferings at once. The thought soon gave me a sense of relief: I would let go the canoes ; I felt certain that I could not last much longer; all power left me and I felt utterly wretched; but I found I could not let go, my hands were so cramped—fastened as if they were nailed to the canoe. I have often looked death in the face in the deadly battle and in dangerous places, but it never appeared so near before. I remained some time longer in this situation, and suddenly when I sank with the wave, I felt the canoe strike against something; I thought it must be a sand-bank, or some large stump or log lying in the sea. I determined to find out what it was when the canoes should strike again. Presently they did so ; I lowered myself quickly, but could feel nothing; again it struck, and I felt the ground about four feet under water. I drew myself with great difficulty back on to the canoe ; with all my strength I fore my hands loose, and waited for a fresh shock. It occurred soon ; I slipped down but I could not use my limbs, and fell up to my neck in water; in an instant a fresh wave reached mo and struck me down, and bore me back in the deep water. I had now nothing in my hands, and did not make the least attempt to save myself; another wave bore me to the shore again. I was only knee deep in the water, but I could not hold myself, and once more I was carried back into the sea. The third time I was nearly senseless, and hoped soon to be out of my misery. The fourth time I struck something hard with my head—it was a pile of driftwood ; I grasped it with my rigid hand, and the wave for once retired without me. I crawled over a great heap of driftwood, and • reached the firm land. The night was pitch dark, and the rain falling iii torrents. I lay on my stomach with my face in the sand; I was awfully cold, and shaking all over : I drew as much wet sand over me as I could ; I felt then as if in a trance, and did not suffer so much. Strange forms flitted before me ! and I felt quite numb. About nine o’clock it ceased to rain, and the sun shone out, but I felt no warmth ; this I perceived with one of my eyes the other being covered with sand. I managed to move the fingers of my right hand, and presently my whole arm ; 1 now tried to turn round but along time in vain, but at last succeeded. I could see now that the sun was high, and I looked at my hands; they were perfectly black with sand-flies, but I did not feel them ; I laughed at their attempts to torment me. Having lain so for half-an-liour I tried to sit up; I succeeded but had to lie down again directly, I was dreadfully sick, and so puffed up and swollen that I nearly burst. I threw up a quantity of sea water sand, and gall, which relieved mo greatly. I cleaned my hair and beard from sand, also my ears and noes—everything was full of sand. I tried at last to stand up, but could not. In another half-hour it bad got pretty warm, and I succeeded ; but how weak I felt, and what pains in all my limbs. I advanced a few yards, then sat down, and again tried to walk. I was fearfully thirsty ; I must get a drink, or I would go mad. Hot far off was some fresh water; I got there with the greatest exertion, and took a drink which refreshed mo greatly. I could now see where I was—about one mile further south from where we attempted to cross the river. Twashed my hands and face, which were covered with blood from the sand-flies that had taken advantage of my impotence. The only clothes I had on was a pair of trousers, and a flannel shirt; in one of the pockets was a knife and a few shillings, everything else was lost in the seas 1 searched along the strand for a few mussels, and discovered a piece of my blanket. In my youth I bad read Robinson Crusoe with great pleasure, aud even wished myself in his place; now I was in reality nearly so situated, the story looked iu quite a different light. I continued along the beach aud found Mr. Whitocmbe’*

coat which he had thrown into the river, my hair brush, a parcel of tobacco, the oilier portion of my blankets, the canoes, and the biscuit bag ; a little further on I saw a pair ot boots sticking upright ; I hurried to the spot, and was horrified to find that it was Mr. Whitcombe himself, his head and body buried deep in the sand, his legs and feet only uncovered. I tore away the sand instantly, and pulled him out; ho was quite dead ; his waistcoat was unbuttoned, and drawn over his head ; I drew it back ; his watch hung to a but-ton-hole, fastened to a chain ; there was another chain fastened to a button hole with clasp and keys ; there I took possession of. I also took his neckerchief which was nearly loose. I then searched his pockets, but they were all full of sand. His face was not distorted or cut in the least, only about the nose was a little blood to be seen. I could not leave him lying there ; an hour later, and the tide would reach him again, I must draw him up to a higher spot. I could at one time have carried two men like ulr. Whitcombe, but now it was otherwise. I tried several times, but in vain; I set him upright—ho was quite stiff. X knelt down on one knee, and let him fall across my shoulders, but I could not support him, and I fell to the ground. What was to be done ? The tide rose nearer and nearer ; I took quickly two pieces of driftwood, about six feet long, placed the body on it, and tied it with flax, then I placed cross pieces on the sand ; and so I succeeded in pushing it out of the reach of the sea. Hero I commenced to dig a grave with my hands, but the sand was very hard and mixed with stones. X worked more than an hour, before I could get down two feet; I then laid the best of my at the bottom, drew the body to the grave and laid it in, in the same position as I had found him, his head to the South. I then wrapped the blanket round him, laid his coat on top, and filled in the grave, drawing all the sand from round about. I laid some logs of wood on top of all, to prevent birds or dogs tearing away the sand, and then marked the spot carefully. X had got tender hearted during this sad performance, and I felt tears roll down my cheeks. Having finished, and the evening coming on, I naa to tuluii about myself. I wished greatly to make afire, but I had no materials. I went to the hut where the tilings had been left by the Maories and searched carefully for matches, but in vain ; I found, however, some half-burnt rag in the chimney, which had been used to stop up a hole. I drew it out and found it dry. I looked for apiece of quartz, and commenced striking fire with my pocket-knife ;at last the rag caught. I blew it into a baize, and in a short time had a little fire in the hut. I took a firebrand and set fire to an enormous heap of drift wood ; when it burnt up,"l could not approach wit hin many yards of it. I dried everething I had picked up, took a mouthful of water, and lay down. I had warmth enough all night from the enormous fire, but I trembled still, and even now, while I write this,' I feel the effects of this hardship. [To be Concluded in our nexf\.