The Auckland University Press Anthology of New Zealand Literature

by Jane Stafford

  I have now told you everything I can think of except that the cat’s on the table and that I’m going to borrow a new book to read. No less than an account of all the systems of philosophy of modern Europe. I have lately met with a wonder a man who thinks Jane Eyre would have done better [to] marry Mr Rivers! he gives no reasons—such people never do.

  (1848)

  John Barr of Craigilee, ‘New Zealand Comforts’

  When to New Zealand first I cam,

  Poor and duddy, poor and duddy,

  When to New Zealand first I cam,

  It was a happy day, sirs.

  For I was fed on parritch thin,

  My taes they stickit thro’ my shoon,

  I ruggit at the pouken pin,

  But I couldna mak it pay, sirs.

  Baith nicht and day upon the board,

  Ruggin’ at it, tuggin’ at it,

  I strived to please a paper lord,

  Wha ance had been a weaver.

  But he got up, and I got doun,

  I wandered idly through the toun,

  A tattered bonnet on my croon

  And wasna worth a steever.

  Nae mair the laird comes for his rent,

  For his rent, for his rent,

  Nae mair the laird comes for his rent,

  When I hae nocht to pay, sirs.

  Nae mair he’ll tak me aff the loom,

  Wi’ hanging lip and pounches toom,

  To touch my hat, and boo to him,

  The like was never kent, sirs.

  But now it’s altered days, I trow,

  A weel I wat, a weel I wat,

  The beef is tumbling in the pat,

  And I’m baith fat and fu’, sirs.

  At my door cheeks there’s bread and cheese,

  I work, or no’, just as I please,

  I’m fairly settled at my ease,

  And that’s the way o’t noo, sirs.

  (1861)

  William Golder, from ‘Thoughts on the Wairarapa’

  How vast the prospect Wairarapa yields

  Of great extensive plains! Unlike the Hutt

  Or other valleys, pleasant though they be,

  Coop’d up in narrow space by lofty hills,

  Like prison walls, which limit much the range

  Of vision, and a baleful influence shed

  Upon the intellect, as bowing down

  The soul that would aspire, and cramping much

  Its energies with sad decrepitude.

  But here—oh! what a change!—we seem set free

  From close confinement. Here the roving eye

  Delights t’expatiate with full stretch of power;

  The soul exults with inward ecstacy,

  As if it bounded with elastic force

  From earth to heaven—so much overjoy’d!

  It feels a freedom tongue can scarce express

  Contemplating the wide surrounding scene.

  Aye! what a scene! An open wilderness

  Without inhabitant! where nature’s rich

  Abundance runs to waste. Though here and there

  A stockman’s cottage stands, long miles between,

  As a good journey neighbours would divide,—

  Can such a land be called inhabited?

  How like a hermitage each homestead stands!

  Or like a rock above the ocean’s waves—

  A solitary spot. Yon little hills—

  Like ramparts which surround some mighty camp

  Long since deserted—only serve to mark

  The bound’ry of some country stretching far

  Beyond, whose loneliness proclaims aloud

  This sad complaint—‘There’s no inhabitants!’

  There Nature, like some antiquated maid,

  Would wear its sweetest smiles and best attire

  To court admirers; yet to small effect,

  Though full of hope that she may have success.

  A virtuous hope it is!—that she may yield

  To many her best blessings, and increase

  Her gifts the more that she is raised above

  This solitary state, and all her wastes

  Are brought, by active industry, to change

  Their aspects wild to those of fertile joy.

  Far in the distant south, from where I stand,

  The Rumahaunga rolls, with rapid sweep,

  Its greyish flood; while winding on its course,

  In serpentine sublimity, scooped out,

  Receiving ev’ry tributary stream,

  Of no small import; adding to its force,

  Chafing the base of many a lofty cliff

  Of rock-like clay, the which, (though frowning high

  With perpendicular steepness o’er the deep,)

  Oft sapp’d below, must fall with fearful plunge.

  But see its holmes extending wide and clad

  With vegetation of luxuriant growth!

  Declaring what fertility abounds,

  As if exhaustless—waiting to be turn’d

  To more account in benefiting man.

  Far to the north, and rounding to the west,

  The sky would seem to stoop, saluting earth;

  And there, as forming the horizon’s bound,

  An undulating scene of hill o’er hill

  Appears, with many dells indented deep,

  Adorn’d with forests to their ridges high;

  Yet all seem rising with a gentle slope

  From yon extensive plains. But high o’er all

  The Tararua range upheaves its head,

  As claiming kindred with the northern Alps,

  Whose summits treat with scorn the thundercloud,

  ’Mid azure skies, all white with lucid snow,

  Which seem to cry, ‘Dread nought from over-drought;

  Behold in me the source of flowing rills.’

  Those belts of forests, as they stretch along,

  Or isolated clumps which stud the wilds,

  Seem as design’d to variegate the scene,

  And form a hedge to break the force of storms

  From too severely sweeping o’er the plains;

  Or they, in contemplation of the time

  When habitants would settle here their homes,

  Have been by Nature planted, to prepare

  And meet the future wants of those who may

  See fit to honour her with their regards.

  There the wild pigeon, dreading nought from man,

  Coos o’er his head, as, with a friend’s salute,

  ’Twould bid ‘Good morning’, as he plods his way,

  A weary winding cattle track, and lone,

  Chequer’d with light and shade; while other birds

  Enliven would his loneness with their strains.

  Compared with the extent of spreading plains

  How dwindled such plantations!—which proclaim

  This solemn truth:—Though the foundation’s laid,

  Man must put forth his industry to rear

  The structure to completion; and exert

  His energies to tame what may be wild

  To suit his purpose,—or of bestial tribes,

  Or circumstances, which surround his way.—

  He must make his own comforts, make his works

  Appear a transcript of his nobler parts,

  Hewn out of Nature’s roughness; and supply

  Deficiencies where found, which will declare

  His worth superior—Heaven’s vicegerent—man!

  That th’ earth should be replenish’d is the will

  Of Heav’n made known to man; but how that will

  Has been complied with, all around declare!

  (1854)

  Anonymous, ‘Original Lines’, from the Daily Southern Cross

  Know ye the land where the pig and the Maori

  Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime,

  Where drunken old Rauparaha and wild Rangihaeta

  Now melt into
‘tangi’, now madden to crime?

  Know ye the land of wild peaches and pine,

  Where few flowers flourish, and suns rarely shine,

  Where flocks of the ‘Kawkaw’ in constant loud screaming,

  Full often disturb the poor emigrants’ dreaming,

  Where tree, herb and flower, are all void of fruit;

  And there’s little to eat in the bush save fern root,

  Where the mists of the swamps, and the clouds of the sky,

  Oft rival each other’s monotonous dye;

  ’Tis the land of the South, not the clime of the East,

  But a place where a man’s rather worse than a beast,

  Where virgins are coarse as the mats that they spin,

  And love lurks in the scores of a well tattooed chin;

  Oh! wild as the ‘Hucka’ and Zealand war yell,

  Are the heads that they bear, and the yarns that they tell.

  (1848)

  Samuel Butler, from Erewhon, or, Over the Range

  I crossed and recrossed the stream several times without difficulty, for there were many good fords. At one o’clock I was at the foot of the saddle; for four hours I mounted, the last two on the snow, where the going was easier; by five, I was within ten minutes of the top, in a state of excitement greater, I think, than I had ever known before. Ten minutes more, and the cold air from the other side came rushing upon me.

  A glance. I was not on the main range.

  Another glance. There was an awful river, muddy and horribly angry, roaring over an immense riverbed, thousands of feet below me.

  It went round to the westward, and I could see no farther up the valley, save that there were enormous glaciers which must extend round the source of the river, and from which it must spring.

  Another glance, and then I remained motionless.

  There was an easy pass in the mountains directly opposite to me, through which I caught a glimpse of an immeasurable extent of blue and distant plains.

  Easy? Yes, perfectly easy; grassed nearly to the summit, which was, as it were, an open path between two glaciers, from which an inconsiderable stream came tumbling down over rough but very possible hillsides, till it got down to the level of the great river, and formed a flat where there was grass and a small bush of stunted timber.

  Almost before I could believe my eyes, a cloud had come up from the valley on the other side, and the plains were hidden. What wonderful luck was mine! Had I arrived five minutes later, the cloud would have been over the pass, and I should not have known of its existence. Now that the cloud was there, I began to doubt my memory, and to be uncertain whether it had been more than a blue line of distant vapour that had filled up the opening. I could only be certain of this much, namely, that the river in the valley below must be the one next to the northward of that which flowed past my master’s station; of this there could be no doubt. Could I, however, imagine that my luck should have led me up a wrong river in search of a pass, and yet brought me to the spot where I could detect the one weak place in the fortifications of a more northern basin? This was too improbable. But even as I doubted there came a rent in the cloud opposite, and a second time I saw blue lines of heaving downs, growing gradually fainter, and retiring into a far space of plain. It was substantial; there had been no mistake whatsoever. I had hardly made myself perfectly sure of this, ere the rent in the clouds joined up again and I could see nothing more.

  What, then, should I do? The night would be upon me shortly, and I was already chilled with standing still after the exertion of climbing. To stay where I was would be impossible; I must either go backwards or forwards. I found a rock which gave me shelter from the evening wind, and took a good pull at the brandy flask, which immediately warmed and encouraged me.

  I asked myself, Could I descend upon the river-bed beneath me? It was impossible to say what precipices might prevent my doing so. If I were on the river-bed, dare I cross the river? I am an excellent swimmer, yet, once in that frightful rush of waters, I should be hurled whithersoever it willed, absolutely powerless. Moreover, there was my swag; I should perish of cold and hunger if I left it, but I should certainly be drowned if I attempted to carry it across the river. These were serious considerations, but the hope of finding an immense tract of available sheep country (which I was determined that I would monopolise as far as I possibly could) sufficed to outweigh them; and, in a few minutes, I felt resolved that, having made so important a discovery as a pass into a country which was probably as valuable as that on our own side of the ranges, I would follow it up and ascertain its value, even though I should pay the penalty of failure with life itself. The more I thought, the more determined I became either to win fame and perhaps fortune, by entering upon this unknown world, or give up life in the attempt. In fact, I felt that life would be no longer valuable if I were to have seen so great a prize and refused to grasp at the possible profits therefrom.

  I had still an hour of good daylight during which I might begin my descent on to some suitable camping-ground, but there was not a moment to be lost. At first I got along rapidly, for I was on the snow, and sank into it enough to save me from falling, though I went forward straight down the mountain side as fast as I could; but there was less snow on this side than on the other, and I had soon done with it, getting on to a coomb of dangerous and very stony ground, where a slip might have given me a disastrous fall. But I was careful with all my speed, and got safely to the bottom, where there were patches of coarse grass, and an attempt here and there at brushwood: what was below this I could not see. I advanced a few hundred yards farther, and found that I was on the brink of a frightful precipice, which no one in his senses would attempt descending. I bethought me, however, to try the creek which drained the coomb, and see whether it might not have made itself a smoother way. In a few minutes I found myself at the upper end of a chasm in the rocks, something like Twll Dhu, only on a greatly larger scale; the creek had found its way into it, and had worn a deep channel through a material which appeared softer than that upon the other side of the mountain. I believe it must have been a different geological formation, though I regret to say that I cannot tell what it was.

  I looked at this rift in great doubt; then I went a little way on either side of it, and found myself looking over the edge of horrible precipices on to the river, which roared some four or five thousand feet below me. I dared not think of getting down at all, unless I committed myself to the rift, of which I was hopeful when I reflected that the rock was soft, and that the water might have worn its channel tolerably evenly through the whole extent. The darkness was increasing with every minute, but I should have twilight for another half-hour, so I went into the chasm (though by no means without fear), and resolved to return and camp, and try some other path next day, should I come to any serious difficulty. In about five minutes I had completely lost my head; the side of the rift became hundreds of feet in height, and overhung so that I could not see the sky. It was full of rocks, and I had many falls and bruises. I was wet through from falling into the water, of which there was no great volume, but it had such force that I could do nothing against it; once I had to leap down a not inconsiderable waterfall into a deep pool below, and my swag was so heavy that I was very nearly drowned. I had indeed a hair’s-breadth escape; but, as luck would have it, Providence was on my side. Shortly afterwards I began to fancy that the rift was getting wider, and that there was more brushwood. Presently I found myself on an open grassy slope, and feeling my way a little farther along the stream, I came upon a flat place with wood, where I could camp comfortably; which was well, for it was now quite dark.

  My first care was for my matches; were they dry? The outside of my swag had got completely wet; but, on undoing the blankets, I found things warm and dry within. How thankful I was! I lit a fire, and was grateful for its warmth and company. I made myself some tea and ate two of my biscuits: my brandy I did not touch, for I had little left, and might want it when my courage failed me.
All that I did, I did almost mechanically, for I could not realise my situation to myself, beyond knowing that I was alone, and that return through the chasm which I had just descended would be impossible. It is a dreadful feeling that of being cut off from all one’s kind. I was still full of hope, and built golden castles for myself as soon as I was warmed with food and fire; but I do not believe that any man could long retain his reason in such solitude, unless he had the companionship of animals. One begins doubting one’s own identity.

  I remember deriving comfort even from the sight of my blankets, and the sound of my watch ticking—things which seemed to link me to other people; but the screaming of the wood-hens frightened me, as also a chattering bird which I had never heard before, and which seemed to laugh at me; though I soon got used to it, and before long could fancy that it was many years since I had first heard it.

  I took off my clothes, and wrapped my inside blanket about me, till my things were dry. The night was very still, and I made a roaring fire; so I soon got warm, and at last could put my clothes on again. Then I strapped my blanket round me, and went to sleep as near the fire as I could.

  I dreamed that there was an organ placed in my master’s wool-shed: the woolshed faded away, and the organ seemed to grow and grow amid a blaze of brilliant light, till it became like a golden city upon the side of a mountain, with rows upon rows of pipes set in cliffs and precipices, one above the other, and in mysterious caverns, like that of Fingal, within whose depths I could see the burnished pillars gleaming. In the front there was a flight of lofty terraces, at the top of which I could see a man with his head buried forward towards a key-board, and his body swaying from side to side amid the storm of huge arpeggioed harmonies that came crashing overhead and round. Then there was one who touched me on the shoulder, and said, ‘Do you not see? it is Handel’;—but I had hardly apprehended, and was trying to scale the terraces, and get near him, when I awoke, dazzled with the vividness and distinctness of the dream.

  A piece of wood had burned through, and the ends had fallen into the ashes with a blaze: this, I supposed, had both given me my dream and robbed me of it. I was bitterly disappointed, and sitting up on my elbow, came back to reality and my strange surroundings as best I could.