THE CENTENNIAL

Lake County Mail, Issue 13, 20 August 1947, Page 4

THE CENTENNIAL

By the Rev. P. Anderson

In this fourth instalment I would like to make some extracts from the Rev. D. Ross’ reminiscences of hia early days in Queenstown to illustrate what “ pioneering ” meant, for the Church as well as for the people. Again there is the reciprocal quality in this narrative, the care of the Synod for the far-flung out-stations, the response of the people themselves. The Church sent the Rev, D, Ross to Queenstown, - as he says for eight weeks, and at first he thought he might not even outlast the eight weeks. The welcome given him by the settlers heie, however, both farmers and miners, was such that lie remained for over 20 years. God indeed provided the man for the occasion. After a rough and tedious journey, by way of the Dunstan, he observed as the coach was nearing Arrowtown, some objects—almost like spiders on a wall —climbing up the face of a very steep hill. “What is that?” he asked a fellow passenger, Mr Ben Walker, of Whitechapel Flat, “ Oh, that is a pack horsq and man going up to the mines at Bracken’s Gully. And that is where youi will have to ride if you are to be here as Minister.” Unaccustomed as he was to riding, the reverend gentleman said such a thing seemed impossible to him then. And yet. swift upon tins conies his first riding experience, quickly followed by several quite severe riding achievements : Leaving Arrowtown they soon came in sight of the Sliotover River. The driver was young and reckless, but the river, was in full flood and daring as this Jehu might be he was told that lie could not venture across with the the coach that day. Unyoking the horses he mounted one and offered the •thcr to the speaker to ride on when crossing. With his Scotch caution he asked the ferryman, Mr Blair, if there was no other way of getting across. Yes, there was a boat. Then he would take it. And it was well he did, otherwise he had ended his days there. Watching on the hank, the coachman was soon in deep water and almost as soon the horse was wholly covered for the moment. The man and horse were nearing land, and the speaker began to breathe freely when, lo I the horse all but disappeared in the sand: another plunge and it again dropped out of sight—nothing visible but head and ears, and the rider washed out of the saddle. Then some desperate struggling and plunging in the turbid rushing waters and the poor animal with its rider managed to reach terra firnni again. This was the reverend gentleman’s first experience of the Sliotover. As there was no cosfeh from the Sliotover he had to ride into Queenstown: . “A few days after he had a ride in company with another friend, Mr D. M. McKay, to Miller’s Flat . . • Very soon after this it was arranged that he should visit the Upper Sliotover. Mr J. Spence, now of Invercargill, was his coVipanion and guide and those who knew Mr Spence then will 1 remember the pace at which he rode. Away he flew on his horse. Jack (which turned rocky corners with wonderful dexterity), scarcely waiting to look back for| his fellow rider, who, bringing up the jrear perforce, at a very respectable distance, had the greatest possible difficulty in keeping sight of his guide. Wilder and wilder the country looked aa they advanced till it seemed as if Nature had reached her final effort of heaving up mountain upon mountain. They held a service that evening in the hotel at Skipper’s Point.

Some; time after this came his first visit to Bracken’s Gully, his guide on that occasion being Mr. McHutchison. Away they started, crossing the' Arrow River, clipjbing yp'.tlie.face of the;., Very kill upon which, but a few days before, ke had seen with such amazement a man

and a horse going. Neither of them \\eie good riders, hut they clung tenaciously to their horses’ manes. Onward and onward they climbed, zig-zagging till they reached the place where the huts should appear. But lo! there wei'e none. The guide was out of his hearings, and what was to he done? They were standing among deep shafts that had been sunk, or opened and abandoned. They coo-ed and at length heard a responding call and soon after a stalwart form appeared bearing a colonial lantern. It was one present that day—Mr Peter Henderson —and not a minute too soon, for the light revealed the fact that the minister’s horse was standing on the verge of one of those old shafts partly overgrown with grass. This beginning of his ministry marks the character of the man. What strenuous riding for one wholly unaccustomed to it. Here is the pioneer among pioneers: It is recorded that Mr Eoss travelled regularly on an average of four days a week, accomplishing in all what one writer refers to as “ a staggering tatty of miles.” It is said of him that he never missed a service nor failed to keep an appointment, though temperatures fell below zero, or rolling mists pervaded the valley or blizzards raged on the mountains or swollen torrents necessitated a cold plunge for his faithful mare Polly or the incomparable Roderick. It was well that Mr Ross was a small man, for he could bunch himself high up in the saddle as the little chestnut or the great bay battled across the rivers. And if the assembled congregation was mutely astonished to see runnels of water tricking from the parson’s sodden garments as straight from the back of his panting mount he stood to open the service with confident prayer, only a snddon deluge on the mountains was to blame — not Roderick the swift, nor Polly the sure-footed. The man fitted the times and the need.