CHAPTER II.

Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1634, 23 December 1882, Page 3 (Supplement)

CHAPTER 11.

TKIED. Eighteen months later. The winter of 1880. Those who lived on the West coast of New Zealand will long remember thas disastrous year, when, from an unprccedentedly heavy and continuous downpour of rain, and the unwonted melting and consequent breaking away of snow and ice in the ranges, terrible floods occurred in various parts of the middle island. The town of Hokitika was submerged, Greymouth fared little better ; at the fiuller a large slice of land, seaward of the township, was washed bodily away. Eesidents in Australia, where floods are common enough, can however but form a faint idea of the nature of a New Zealand flood. Neither can those resident in the sea-ports, have anything like an adequate conception of the floods in the interior. They are simply and precisely awful. Words cannot depict them. Hardly can the imagination conceive them. It seems as if in a brief space, an hour it may be, the fountains of the great deep were indeed broken up, and the very mountains were crumbling away to powder. No gradual rising of the water, as in the flat lands of Australia, giving time for escape and the removal of valuables, but a solid wall of greenish, turbid water, sweeping onward with resistless force. It is not a flood. It is a cataclysm, an avalanche of water and ice and melting snow, bearing with it millions of tons of rooks, and earth, and trees, and sweeping everything in its path out of existence, as it were. The roar of the furious torrent drowning even that of the wind, is like the screams and howls of myriads of damned souls in torment ; the sight is impeded by thick blinding rain, the very firm set earth trembles as if in terror at the water's mad rage. I Fortunately these floods, that is to say the worst of them, are not of frequent occurrence, nor do fliey, as a rule, last very long. Owing to the mountainous character of the interior, the superabundant water soon runs off, but it carries death and destruction in its course. It is in a great measure due to these floods, that so-few of the New Zealand rivers are navigable to any extent, inasmuch as they are all more or less barred up here and there by moraines of gravel and huge boulders, and fallen trees. The deaths and destruction of stock and other property, caused by these fearful visitations, are almost incredible. In the mining districts, the work of months, it may be of years, may be carried away in a single hour, dams, bridges, houses, all swept away as if they were so many cobwebs before the housemaid's broom. Gold-miners however, usually perch their camps in some secure and sheltered spot on the hill terraces, high above the reach of floods; sometimes, however, they are not sufficiently cautious, and the insatiate water reaches them. Notably was this the case with a family of half-diggers, half -farmers, on the Upper Molyneaux river, a few miles above the township of Oroinwell, not many years since. The torrent reached their house, a large wooden edifice, sweeping it away during the night, and the whole family, comprising the mother, four sons, two son's wives, and eight or ten children, being drowned or killed. Some of the bodies were washed miles away, others were never recovered. Similar instances might easily be multiplied, but one will suffice. It is -now with the flood of 1880 that we have to deal. It was early in September, when, after a continuance of light showery weather, and prevalence of the familiar " Scotch mist," that the rain set steadily in, and several freshets took place in the rivers, betokenmg the melting, or more properly speaking, erosion of snow in the ranges, Nothing, however, of much consequence, for as the river beds»are usually very wido, sometimes a mile or two' aoross, they will, of course, carry off a vast body of water. Buton a certain Monday morning, the rain beating down still more heavily, and a dark pall of cloud portending a continuance, hanging over the hills, our old friend Geordie Elliott, at the homestead at Arrandoon, thought it time to be up and doing. The little Arran stream or burn was rapidly increasing in volume, and roaring sullenly over its bed of shingle. Still Geordie did not apprehend much danger, and beyond driving the stock- in the low-lying paddocks to higher ground, he did not take any precautions. There had been floods before, and little or no damage had ensued. The house and farm buildings being placed on an elevation had never been touched by the water, and, in fact, only the crops in ,the lower end of the home paddocks had suffered. Still, as the rain increased in volume, and as the roar of the river grew more and more angry and hoarse, and as, in fact, the water was as high as it ever had been before, and was still steadily creeping up the slope, ho grew anxious, and looked eagerly, but in vain, for the signs of the cessation of the rain. Suddenly he thought he could detect a dull, rumbling sound, above the roar of the river, and going out into the verandah, he saw a sight which made him turn pallid with terror. It seemed as if, seen through the dull mist, the entire upper part of Mount Kaimatau were advancing bodily into the valley, and were not more than a couple of miles distant. Shouting loudly for all in the house to follow him, he darted out at the back and made for the upper bush. Not an instant too soon, for although the nearest place of shelter was at no great distance, still there were several fences to climb, and this delayed the terrorstricken fugitives. "Make straight for the Black Pinch, and scramble up it for your lives," he called out hoarsely, as the others pressed hard on his footsteps. But it was fearful work, splashing through the sodden fields, and foot by foot, slipping, crashing through the undergrowth, clambering over the fences, they raced against the i death rapidly gaining on them. Fortunate it was for all that he ( had s^en the coming flood when he did, for a mixture later, and the little household .would haye^b'&n sped. As it was, barely had they scirftmWed up the Pinch to a rather high-lying terrace,, when down came the deluge, a perfect' wall "of water, twenty or thitty feet high, with the roar of ten thousand howling demons. Trees were torn up and tossed about like straws. An instant, and the home- J stead and out-buildings were home away like a streak of light. Another, and the cattle and horses, unable to escape over the fences^ were devoured by the torrent. The entire valley at their feet was a vast coiling, raging sea, hurrying on to the outlet below. , Sojfar they were* safe, but they must go higher, for the lower gorge was narrow and would force the water back. , * ' ' ' . Up, up, up, through the fern and tangled supple-jabky through, the ''flax 'arid ; ' prickly, lawyer' bush ; c ;'over fallen, itfapujana^ birch tree^;; up| ;up,^

[theyi sank^fexhWted! on 4tie wet ' grdrin<T, forh^b'rtiised," afcd bleeding. ; ," \ ". *' 5 the entire result of eighteen years' toil and" earing washed away in an" instant. Barn and byre, house , and stable, rick and stack razed' to the ground, and tossed scornfully on the turbid waves^is in mockery of their woe. Horses and cattle, sheep and pigs, all gone. But life, dear life, was saved, and Geordie knelt on the dripping fern and'gave thanks to Him who had' brought them through the terrible peril. Geordie Elliott was a ruined man, but he had his loved ones with him, his daughter, kis two ! gallant sons, and his servants, and he must pull hia bonnet o'er his brow, and face the world afresh, like a sturdy border yeoman as he was. The night gloomed apace, and wet, cold and miserable, they waited through the dismal watches of the dark. The morning came at last, and brought with it a thick mist, but the rain had ceased, and ere long the sun broke from behind a cloud. The flood had gone down, but what a sight lay before ih&cx. The entire valley was sfcreira with a thick layer of mud, shingle, boulders, and .uprooted trees. Not a veßtige of pleasant Arrandoon homestead, scarcely a yard of sound fencing. The avalanche had done its work, and sadly and silently the fugitives descended from their eyrie of safety, in search of better shelter, if any could be found. * * * * * A month later and the little household were located in a small hut constructed of fern tree trunks, and roofed with bark, on the scene of devastation. Nothing had been saved, and the little money Elliott had in the bank, at Hokitiki, and a trifle owing him here and there, had enabled him to live and start again, but in a very small way. But the neighbours had been sympathetic, and more than sympathetic, for they had offered and given him assistance, both in labour and kind. But he was moody and discontented. Not that he complained. His religious feelings would not permit him to repine at the ordinations of Providence, but he had aged materially. He was no longer the douce hearty Geordie Elliott, but what is so quaintly and touchingly called in border fashion, " a broken man," and it needed all the care and love of Jessie to keep him from despairing. But Jessie had her own troubles, that cost her many a sleepless night and many a heartache. A wealthy sheep-farmer on the Bealey river, had met her at the Otira Gorge, where they had taken refuge for a few days after the flood, and had become enamoured of thelovely girl, and offered her marriage. He was a well meaning man enough, but he had not put the matter very delicately, and she had resented the indignity. He had gone to her father, and offered to place him on a good farm, to give it to him in fact, the condition being his daughter's hand. Father and brothers had advised her to accept the man, and he himself had wooed in a very summary manner. " Look here, my dear," he had said to her, " I am not a young man, and I'm not an old man, but I'm hale and hearty, and not a bad sort of fellow at bottom. Marry me, and I'll make a lady on you. Take me, and I'll give your father ana brothers a good start, and they shall know it comes from you." She had replied with some heat that she was not aware that either her father or her brothers had asked him for his help, and he had answered that Geordie Elliott was not the sort of man to ask for help, but that still he needed it, and it was his daughter's duty to give it him if she could. However, he wasn't in such a desperate hurry, and he'd give her time to think it over. Many a girl he knew would jump at the chance. So they might, she had said, but she was not one of them, Thereupon negotiations had stopped for the time. Her father did not press her, but she well knew his heart was set on it. " Jess, my lass," he would say, " this is waesome work for an auld man like me. I fear me I'm no lang for this warld, my bonnie birdie, and what wad become o' thee if I were ta'en ? Waes me, it'll be a sair thing for me to dee and leave you to the cauld warld. Me thinks ye might do waur. He's a good man, and a just, albeit a trifle auld. There, there, dinna greet, hinnie, it shall be as you wish, but I'm an auld man, and a failing, and I'd like to see ye in a home o' your own ere I turn my face to the wa\" Her brothers were more outspoken. They told her bluntly that she was a fool and worse, for her pains ; that she needn't look to 'them for support, and reminded her that " she that would not when she might, might not when she would." As for that painting fellow, he'd forgotten her long since, and even went to the length of getting up a pious fraud to the effect that they had been told he had married someone else, but here they rather overshot their mark, for telling their father of the notable scheme, he treated them to such a wigging as made their ears tingle for many a day after. "No, no, ye ill-contrived scoondrels," he had said, " Geordie Elliotts no a leear. If she'll' no wed but wi him, my word's my bond, if it's for twenty years to come, and if he brings me what he's gone for he shall hae her. He's an honourable laddie. He promised me no to write, and he's kept faith." And so the struggle in the mind of Jessie Elliot between love and duty went on, but love still carried the day, for even in the darkest hour she would say, "I feel in my heart that he is true to me, and 'We Elliotts are aye faithful— faithful to death I'"