SPECIAL CORRESPONDENTS IN TARANAKI.

Lyttelton Times, Volume LVI, Issue 6489, 14 December 1881, Page 5

SPECIAL CORRESPONDENTS IN TARANAKI.

Br S. 0.-B. Wain. With this paper will close my reminiscences of the late Taranaki campaign. They do not assume to bo anything in the shape of a history of ovents. That history, so far as it could be told from day to day while events wore progressing, is contained in many columns of the Lyilellott Timt. It has, however, yet to be written in a complete form t ana to whomsoever the task may fall, it will undoubtedly be one of grave responsibility. Many dark shadows must be limned. My task just now is to lightly sketch some of the minor lights. A pungent and amusing commentary upon the intricacy and uncertainty of proceedings In our law courts was made by Titokowaru when before the New Plymouth < Bench, charged with having used threatening language at Mamin. The old warrior pleaded " -builty,” evidently thinking it useless to do otherwise. But the Bench, at the instance of the prosecuting counsel, entered a plea of "not guilty," and proceeded to ta«e evidenoe. The interpreter, Johnny Blake, had groat difficulty in explaining the tiaiu quo to IHto. Freely translated,'the following conversation took place between Blake and Titokowartt:— Blake t The Magistrates won’t allow you to say you are guilty; they say you’re not guilty, Titokowaru (wrapping his blanket round

him, and preparing, with an air of satisfaction, to leave the dock): Kapai! (good.) Blake: Yon must’nt go; they’re going to try you now. Tltokowaru (astonished) : What do they want to try mo for if they say I’m not guilty F Blake: But yon might bo guilty after all. Titokowara: Well, 1 said at first I was, and they said I was not. Blake: Precisely, that’s it. The Bench: Toll him wo here written down in the big book (holding it up) that he is “ Not Guilty.'’ Titokowara: That’s a lie. 1 said I wa» guilty. | The Bench (authoritatively): Call the first ! witness. ! ,' Titokowara (with an air of puzzled resigna- 1 tion): I always thought the pakohas were damned fools. | The only real fight of the campaign took I place at Grinder's Accommodation House. I One night an elderly man, of whom I bad i known something in former years, turned up, I representing himself as a Special Oorrespon- I dent. Some queer fish blossomed into “ Specials” about that time. He was provided with a room. The room immediately next to mine was occupied by Mr* B s, a sister of the landlady, and two female domestic*; and as the partition consisted merely of papered scrim, it may easily be imagined that auricular communication was not difficult. Sometime in “ tbe wee ema’ *oors,” I was • awakened by Mrs B s calling my name, and imploring me to get up, as someone had gone mad. Sure enough, the most horrible blood-chilling yells proceeded from a room in the vicinity. One necessary article of clothing was quickly donned, and the room whence came the sounds, made for. There was no response to my knock, and none to my enquiries when I entered the room. The yells continued. Groping my way in the dark, and reaching the bed, after sundry shin-barkings against chairs and boxev, I laid my band upon someone sitting bolt upright in bed. The demented wretch was instantly seized with die idea that the Maoriee had entered the house, and that he was about to be tomahawked. The struggle that ensued before, lights could be obtained formed food for laughter for days after; but at the time it was no laughing matter for me. All the “ Specials ” carried revolvers and sheath knives, and I did not know at what moment he might get hold of one or the other of these weapons. Finally the mao whe was suffering from P.B. and Maori-funk was subdued, and next morning the writer had to seek temporary retirement while snndiy rents were being patched and buttons replaced. In the course of the following day this lively specimen of a journalist shook the dust of Grimley’s from off his feet. One minor source of amusement to os was the frantic efforts made, as matters were approaching a climax, by a penny morning paper pnblished in Christchurch to obtain the services of a “ Special”—to be more exact, the services of part of a “ Special,” or part ef the service* of a “ Special”—whichever way you choose to put it. At last a gentleman who occasionally-acted as interpreter for me, and did a little amateur correspondence for the New Zealand Times and one or two others of the smaller fry of New Zealand journals, was induced to figure as the Cashel street “Special." All went well, 1 believe, until a telegram relating to certain facts, which facts told rather against the Government, was sent. Before being sent it was shown to other correspondents, and speculation ran high as to whether Cashel street would dare to publish it. The sender, I may add, openly avowed that he forwarded it as a test telegram, for the purpose of discovering whether he was expected to telegraph what was true or only what was expedient. We had not long to wait. In the course of a few hours, back came a worm telegram, informing the correspondent that hie dispatches were “ unsuitable.” After that, when anyone in camp made reference to an unpalateable truth, someone would whisper: “Hush, that’s unsuitable !” It is scarcely necessary to add) that the gentleman in whom Cashel street journalism desired to have an economic share, respectfully declined to distort facts into a “suitable” form. One of our number was for some time unmercifully chaffed over a little adventure that reminds one forcibly of Mansie Waugh’s “000 ’’—“the coo’s calved an’ it’s a cuddy.” Ha of “ Curt ” was as good a man as any amongst us, and as ready and willing to rough it. But he had a weakness for milk, and milk save of the tinned variety was not to be had. But one day he “ struck a patch.” He was observed secretly negotiating for the loan of a pail. Then he passed into the scrub with the air of a Bed Indian on the war-trail, and disappeared to mortal view. An hour or two after he re-appeared, a soured and disappointed man. By degrees it all came •at. Tn the far distance hie eagle eye hod observed a goat. Visions of milk floated before his gaze. To negotiate the pail; to stalk that goat up hills, down valleys, across creeks; to lacerate the flesh plunging through gorse; to lose one boot in a swamp; to pant, to perspire, to swear perhaps—what were all these to the triumph of finally catching that goat F—and discovering it to be a billy !!! Another of “ Ours” obtained the soubriquet of “ The Slab” thosly. As may be gathered from the niok-name, his manly form is suggestive of Euclid’s definition of a line — “ length without breadth.” On one occasion of visiting a Native settlement, the Maories enquired for him, he not being with as. We could not make out at first to whom these enquiries referred, until an old woman, going up to a fence, and taking hold of a long, thin slab said : “ You know, all same as this.” Then it flashed upon us that our friend was the object of their solicitation. And we christened him accordingly. Although strictly speaking not amongst the reminiscences of the last visit to Taranaki, I may be allowed to take this opportunity to mention a very ludicrous incident. Visiting a distant Maori settlement one day, I took with me as interpreter a man named Amos Burr, who many years ago had both arms blown off by the explosion of a big gun on board a man-of-war. He has artificial arms screwed on to the stumps, which he uses very deftly. At the pah, the Maories, to whom such arms were a novelty, watched his movements with intense interest. But when night arrived, and Burr requested me to unscrew the artificial arms, their astonishment knew no bounds. They were evidently alarmed, but curiosity chained them to the spot. Seeing an opportunity for a bit of fun, I whispered to Burr that as soon as I had got his arms off he should lower his head, and I would make as though unscrewing that. 'this he did, thoroughly entering into the spirit of the joke, and making the most frightful contortions while I twisted him round and round. If any artist could fully depict the look of terror, astonishment and horror on the faces of these “ untutored savages,” ho would make a fortune. Even when laughter compelled me to give it up, they stared at Bu r as though every moment expecting to see him come to pieces. Mentioning the above to Mr Crompton, the clover and genial Inspector of Schools for Taranaki, he told mo of an equally ridiculous incident in his own experience. In his youth Mr Crompton lost all his hair through a fever, and had a wig made by a crack Parisian porruquier. Arriving in New Zealand many years ago, when the Maori was less sophisticated than now, Mr Crompton visited a settlement, and was immediately surrounded and examined by the Natives. While they were discussing his “points," and Mr Crompton being a “ new chum," was not at ail sure what their ulterior object might bo, he was taken with a violent fit of sneezing, and sneezed his wig off. Taipo ! iaipo! (the devil! the devil!) yelled the electrified savages, and rushed for the bush. Mr Crompton, as much frightened as they, also made tracks, and now wears a skull-cap. Not the least pleasant of the reminisoenee* of this time is that of the “dinner’ biscuits and whiskey which marked the break-up of the little party of journalists who had assembled at Pungarehu. By way of finding on excuse for the “ blow-out,’ and at the isms time recognising the really efficient manner in which tbe camp telegraph operators had served us, wo made them our guest*. We, of course, were really glad to have them (here j but they also served a purpose which

hod not been anticipated. As Chairman, I had at the outset suggested that in any speeches that might be made allusion to the political aspect of events at Parihaka should be avoided. Thera were men there representing either in their own persons, or on behalf of the journals which they served, all kinds of diverse opinion. Consequently to touch upon politics was to touch upon possibly dangerous ground. But towards—well, say, towards sunrise—one gentleman at the far end of the table express'd his determination to propose the health of Te Whili,- whereupon rose another opposite to him, protesting that if Te Whiti’s health were proposed he not only would not drink it but would propose that of Mr Bryce, Each had his partizane; and 1 fear mo all the eloquent persuasion of “ the chair” would have gone for nought, had it not suddenly struck that article of furniture to appeal to both sides to refrain, on the ground that Civil servant* were present who would be p/aced in an embarrassing position aa between Te Whiti and Bryce. The chair wte supported, and a jolly gathering ended jovially.