A NEW ZEALAND YARN.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XLII, Issue 2098, 4 March 1920, Page 1

A NEW ZEALAND YARN.

Some “tali’ stories are being told in The Scotsman about dogs, and the following should lie of interest to New Zealanders: — One day there came lo our war hospital that tine old Imperial statesman, Sir James Carroll, one time Prime Minister, I believe, of Neu; Zealand. I succeeded in persuading him to contribute lo our soldiers’ magazine, and to my surprise and delight, 1 found when his copy came along (hat it was the following dog story: — “Now, if anything will stir the backblocker out of his equanimity of life, it is a dog story. Every bush-whacker, every shepherd, every roadman, cow spanker, small storekeeper, station manager, etc., have dogs, and many an evening when some local public matter brought them together, the aftermath was generally at the only pub within miles, where they discussed the wai< news and aspects of ah’airs. You can be sure, however, that before long (hey got lo grips in the whirl of canine exploits. All the deeds of celebrites are soon brought up to date, and the deeds and virtues of 1 the present dog generation thrown into the scale. Disputations were manv. as can be expected when fervour was on the bound as the narrator revealed the marvellous attributes and wonderful things that had been done by some animal ho had owned. / “ 'E WAS A DOG.” “One of the oldest settlers of the district, to whose utterances they paid great respect, because lie invariably spoke of experiences before their time, generally took; his turn at- the end when the vivid imaginations of the younger order had reached their limit. ‘Well, now, look ’ere boys, 1 hain’t goin’ to question all the stories you’ve been tollin’, but listen to me, and I’ll tell you a few fads about a dog I once had. God rest hissoul; ’e was a dog, ’*.■ knew me mor’ii a man. It was in :1S()8, all but lifty years ago. The white-sett levs were pushing .back. There wer’nt many in the Poverty Bay district (lien compared to now. Well, I had a bit o’ land out on tho border, and I lived there, in my whare (hut). I had cattle, horses,' pigs, and Cowls, but above all 1 had my dog —'e was a dog. I was doing well when the Maori war broke mu afresh under the notorious rebel Tc Kooti. He it was that perpetrated that terrible Poverty Bay massaere, when hundreds and hundreds of European families and loyal Maoris, were murdered.

THE TIN HAT

“ ‘lt was just before ibis massacre that we wore warned by the scouts that the''enemy tires could ba seen, and no doubt (hoy meant to raid the district. All we back settlers were advised to clear out to where it was safer. 'ldle further bach settlers trooped to my wharf) day by day. I sort of hung on. The rebels they'•kept getting closer, i:j fact, they almost got on top of mo, bullets Ilyin# round, fowls crackling, pig’s squealing, there was all o’ confusion. I had hung on a bit too late. How was Ito get out ? There was the big river, and if I swam 1 bey’s bound to sec me and shoot mo in the river. A sudden idea struck me. 1 caught sight of the cam]) oven. I takes it up, puts it on my head, and dashes for the river. When half-way across 1 hears a cry. The varmints had sighted mo. So help me! I don’t know how many bullets struck the old camp oven. 1 got across, wormed my way up a creek that ran into the river, and got unde)’ cover. My word, I did pant hard, I was awfully blown. Great Scott! J nearly turned sick. 1 suddenly thought of my dog, the dog I valued equal to my life. 1 must have him at all costs. I made up my mind; 1 crawled back to the edge of the river. 1 was adjusting my camp-oven to make a dash hack for my dog, when 1 happened to look across (he river, and what do you think I saw? The darned dog, the wonder, the blooming marvel, swimming across to me with the lid of the camp-oven over his head and the rebels tiring ai him like mad. My word'"e was a dog. There’s mme of his breed left.”