GLIMPSES OF THE GOLDEN COAST

Hokitika Guardian, 16 October 1920, Page 1

GLIMPSES OF THE GOLDEN COAST

>•<»■<- A PAGE TORN FROM EARLY HISTORY.« (From. .Christ’s College Magazine.) i Friday, July 3rd (1863). Started again. On going round a- bend of fhc lake,, near the mouth of Hohonu, I saw something, lying on the beachwhich, to my dismay, on .-reaching ;it, proved to be Mr Howitt’s swag rolled up in the little calico tent which he used for. travelling with. This; by preventing the blanket becoming soaked with water, had been blown on shore. I searched, all rouitd, but I could see nothing else. I have, therefore, reason for supposing that the canoe sank with them during the strong wind that had been blowing. Tho canoe was but of green wood and floated scarcely three inches out of the water in smooth weather. I took the swag along with me to my watti, made a fire to dry the papers and camped there. It rained heavily.” A simple and matter of fact entry, but it contains all that has ever transpired of the fate of a very gallant gentleman. The' writer, the sole survivor of the party, searched the shores of Lake Brunner, floating raft after raft, but without the slightest further discovery. For six months Charlton Howitt and his three men had been penetrating the wonderful forests of the West Coastforests which Howitt loved passionately. The profound silence of the regions pleased him, and he admired the grandeur of repose and scene displayed. Around the graves of past generations of trees, the air was hushed into stillness, while the tops of the living gene ration were agitated with gales and breezes. At Christmas the pohutukaua (fata) was covered with scarlet flowers and the riinn possessed a melancholy and indescribable beauty. Few of the pines recalled to Howitt’s eyes thq same trees in England, but he admired all the- scenery of the land of his adoption. . In his survey "of the country, Howitt followed for the most part the course of the rivers Hurunui and Teremakau. The party arrived at Lake Brunner and were cutting the road along its margin. The thickness of the bush yet uncut prevented them getting their stores from the West Coast so that they had to deposit these in a hut on the other side of the lake. To cross to this, they constructed a canoe, after the fashion of the natives, and, iHowitt in his letter home, describes the pleasure with which they launched it. After a number of journeys across, once more Howitt set out with two of the men, Robert JJttlc and Henry Muller on Saturday, June 27th., to fetch some of the flour and to fish for eels in the river Arnold, which runs out of the head of the lake. They left James Belgravc Hammell alone in the hut. While they were away, had weather came on, and on the Thursday, Hammell set out in great alarm to walk, round the lake, through deep bogs and water, often up to his chest; to seek his missing companions. On Friday he makes the entry in his diary which opens this article.

Pool* Hammmell, in spite of starvation and drenching spent days in fruitless search, till his state of mind was bordering on madness. Imagine Ips position, miles from nny habitation, in the midst of a wild and wind-swept country, with the ever haunting thought of the tragic fate of his companions ! Twenty three days elapsed before the search was given up, and Hammell then set out for Buller diggings with Mr Howitt’s tin of map and papers. After informing Townsend, the Government .Officer at the Grey, of the disaster, Hammell continued his journey, though in a state of extreme exhaustion.. He was determined to reach Canterbury, somehow to convey the news of the fate of Mr Howitt and the two men to their relatives and friends. ‘He accomplished his object, hut soon after died, owing, no doubt, to his sufferings both of body and mind on his arduous journey. Faithful unto the last, Hammell is worthy to be rankI ed pn the /roll of the heroes of exploration. His death completes the tragic story of tlio party which perished so that Westland might be accessible to the of Civilisation. Little enough honour lias been paid to the men who “went West” in those days before the Rush, laying down their lives for their friends, without display, and without fear. Perhaps a fuller recognition of their sacrifice will come in the future, [Note —Charles ' Hewitt’s inemory is perpetuated on the mdriiiinent at the Hokitika Cemetery to the early explorers.—Ed. G.jj

THE BIRTH OF KUMARA IT’S UNINTENTIONAL START. Those who pass through Eumnra low little realise the eventful story , of ;liis now quiet village. Historic Kunara, known in political annals as ‘‘Gko* wHtploee of Mr Seddon, the Liberal Loader’ ’; had an origin unusual even in the good old days of the Coast. A company of gold diggers, so the story runs, had been prospecting on the south bank of the beautiful, but treacherous Teremakau. Not being very successful, they decided to seek out n suitable J place for the illicit manufacture of \ poteen, or “chain lightning.” They i also, it was rumoured, arranged with Sandy Stewart, the keeper of the acco» 1 mmodation house on the main road above, that he was to strike up a wellknown tune on his bagpipes when Charlie Brown, the detective, came along. Be that as it may, the party struck it rich while engaged in digging the foundations of the whisky mill, and the safe a.nd legitimate business of golddigging soon occupied all their attention. They kept the secret well, but a prospector from the Waimea lost his way in the hush and came nnexpected-

ly on the party “washing-up” at the river.. Taking his bearings quietly, he hastened to Stafford Town, and reported to Richard Seddon. Tho two entered into partnership immediately, and soon pegged out at the new diggings. Tho news soon got round, and a, mining township replaced the silent forest and tangle of undergrowth. Tho rush was a large ono ,and the new town soon became very prosperous. In common with its importance, but in the interest which its past inspires, it yields to none 0 f tho more prosperous, but less romantic towns of the East. GLORIOUS WESTLAND.

A SCENIC PARADISE. Tho west country of tlie South Island has a wonderful charm for English.visitors—it is a land of cool forest aisles, of lonely snow-peaks, and purple gorges, of rushing streams and untouched solitudes. In the heat and bustle of cities the memory of Westland comes to fill their hearts with pleasure,: They remember passing from the yellow eastern plains to the green coolness, of the western forests. They hear again the trees calling ,nnd wonderful colourings come again to mind—the splendid rata algainst the dazzling whiteness of the ice, on the peaks which glitter against tho wondrous blue of the heavens. Is it surprising that the memory of this Westland is a cherished possession of thousands ? THE CALL OF THE BUSH. Old memory may bring me her treasures From tho land of the blossoms' in May, But to me the hill daisies are dearer, And tho gorse on the river-bed grey. The spear grass and cabbage-tree yonder, The honey-bell’s flax in its bloom, Tho dark of the bush on the sidelings, The snow crested mountains that loom Golden and grey in the sunlight, Far up in the cloud-fringed blue, Are the threads with old memory weaving ’ And tho line of my life-running thro’; .i ■, And the wind of the morning calling. Has ever voice for me Of hope for the land of the dawning, In the golden years to he.