Chapter I.
JaEa^^^SuSiH^HE evening sun shone y^^^P^l^^' lin^eringly into the valley of the Taupira ttr af * though loth to vanish behind the snow - capped *&t~sKd^ ranges, and a white mist Wru cre pt slowly over the lake as the •djireg 1 god sank into rest, sending noisy flocks of wild duck, teal, and curlew Into the flax and rushes that skirted the deep and. -silent water. The 'valley of the Taupira, or as it was more cauraionly called, Silver Gully, was situated near the Great Weft Coast Road, that cuts through two provinces, right across foe Middle Island, over high mountains, "through steep gorges and narrow pas&es, fsrom &ea to sea. Five years prior to the time about which we are writing an ambitions township flouiished in the gully, which was misnamed "Silver-/ for a more precious metal lay beneath the Eoil, and ran in quartz leefs up into the Mils. Most of the gold had now been worked out, for the Held was rushed at its opening by eager diggers, who sank shafts, tunnelled into hills, aud blasted rocks bill they unearthed the greatest part of the auiifei'ous deposit. The lake, being in such proximity to the diggings, greatly assisted the gold-hunters with its? exhaustless water supply, who, in their gratitude for its sparkling silver bounty, named tteh c new found goldfield Silver Gully, after the natuial reservoir, Silver Lake, A few miners still dwelt in the gully, and one hotel remained intact, where the owner, fat Giles Pearne, dispensed liquors, news, and good advice over the broad bar counter. The mine is were hurrying in from their claims in twos and threes, gaily conversing, and exchanging rough witticisms, for it was Christmas Eve, and the morrow would bo a day of rest and recreation for the men, fearful and wonderful cookery exploits for the women, and sports for the juveniles. Christmas Day is a day of rejoicing throughout the length and breadth of Christendom, and even in the brokenbacked, worked -out mining community of Silver Gully, ,the peoplo had rallied all their energies to make the morrow as jolly as their limited laeacs allowed. Every few miles along the Great Road men were stationed to keep their different sections repaired with .the scones quarried from the rocks close by or dug from the side of the track, One man, the nearest located to Silver •Gully, was tramping through the bush with his long-handled hammer, pick and shovel, slung across his shoulder. He was a young man, tall, bronzed, and dirty, with pleasing features, laughing blue eyes, and dark auburn curls peeping beneath his broad grey wideawake hat. That he was good tempered could be seen by the patient manner he disentangled the prickly "lawyer" that 'persistently seized his legs, also by the «aey laugrh that greeted scratches dealt by the " wild Irishman " (a gigantic gooseberry bush minus the fruit), and the smart blows a disturbed, supplejack would fly back and promptly deliver on his tightfitting corduroy pants. After a few minutes' patient pcrambling he reached a hut nestling amidst a bower of
gigantic ferns, with one grand nikau nearly forty feet high standing sentinel over it. The door stood open, the man entered, and throwing down his tools in one corner, started, in a business-like manner, to prepare his evening meal. Bacon does not take long to fry and less time to eat, so our solitary soon finished his frugal supper, cleared the table, and lighted his pipe. "Can't make it out !" muttered the man, taHng a few rough pieces of stone from his coat pocket. "This stone differs from the usual road metal. I'll have to quarry higher up for softer stuff, I suppose. If I were not so jealous of my seclusion here and so morbidly wrapped up in myself I'd ask some of the miners about it; but it does not matter much anyway." And he carelessly Jlung it into a corner where a little heap of the same material was piled. Seclusion breeds soliloquy ; our solitary friend thought" hard, and muttered deep. "Christmas Eve, just three years ago, eime^l was turned like a dog from my 1 #ais. Well, I was to blame, I suppose, or I should not be patching up roads at the antipodes." And then, as he stared at the hot embers on the hearth, it all came back to him again, standing out bare and unvarnished. He saw his wasted youth, his widowed mother's grief, and that last miserable Bcene, when, his crowning folly had stung his gentle, long-suffering mother into words of fie fee reproach. He could see the flashing e5 es and "trembling figure as ehe stood erect pointing to the door of the home, commanding him in words that cut his hearf£like knives to leave her roof till he could bring,beneath it a cleaner life. He remembered how he slunk away determined to wipe out all past folly by living a rioblei*, better life j and again, when, night came on, he crept up the snow-covered garden and peeped in at the TPindowof-theroom,- where his mother sat,. sad and_silent, by the fire, with fiei* pole j companion, an orphan niece, nestling i p ,her knees. He' &aw himself again/nfl'.;' 1 hours 7 of -"waiting in the cold, knocKin^'-at teditVs Window, -arid 'the tearful faSj^tftat met his, and cried- upon hia^ shouM^J.lfad[ remaincci-in Jhis heartr, helping" him tt&oflP'fflatfy Wtigh sfeYuggWgairfsfc old habits and' inclinations; i He'feJt again' the hand clasp of His dearest friend," and
remembered the hearty part'ng words :—: — " Cheer up, old boy ; it will all come right some day.' Truth must float; you can't, gink it for ever. ' I don't believe you could do * niean ' thinir,— and as for forging a cheque — pah ! — the idea is absurd !" And his friend was right. He had been foolish, extravagant, wild, but, no forger. Appearances were against him fo. strongly that eveu hia mother believed him guilty. But he was innocent of that crime. So he sat thinking. The night crept on and the fire went out. Rats raced across the floor, mosquitos buzzed around his head, sandflics settled on his neck, and feasted to their hearts' content. The silvery moon flooded the hut with her light, and wondered why he was not in bed preparing for to-morrow's fun. The locusts chirped away outside, a
s«aucy black owl cried "more-port"' at him till he was hoarse, a Maori hen shrieked at him with all her might, after picking up the crumbs at his feet, — still he sat thinking. 1 firmly believe brooding all night over one's misfortune instead of going to bed sensibly and dreaming of impossible delights tends to temporarily overbalance one's reason, or how can we account for what our solitary friend did? Just as the sun was timidly peeping- over the ranges before taking his morning leap into the cloudless eky, our friend started from his seat with a shiver, though it was far from cold, and stared wildly around him. "Up all night, and it's now Christmas Day," muttered he, sleepily. " Three years an exile with the prospects of three mote. By gad, I'll end it^all this morning — this cursed anniversary of my misery. No more brooding, solitary, miserable. No one will miss me. I've thought of this before. To day I'll do it." It seems ridiculous to relate, but it is a fact nevertheless. Our misguided young friend took a gun from the wall, ascertained that it was loaded, gravely tied a piece of cord to the trigger, sleepily eat back in his
chair, placed the butt end of the weapon between his knees, after tying the end of the cord to his big toe. It seems absurd, but he did it. "Good-bye, misery," murmured he, placing thd muzzle in his mouth.
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Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 234, 24 December 1887, Page 4
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1,298Chapter I. Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 234, 24 December 1887, Page 4
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