Station Life in New Zealand by Lady Mary Anne Barker (books to read this summer TXT) 📕

only able to lap a little warm milk; on the third morning he tried to get up, and crawled into the verandah; I followed to watch him. Imagine my dismay at seeing him limp to the place where the body of his last victim lay, and deliberately begin tearing it to pieces. I followed him with my little horsewhip and gave him a slight beating. I could not find it in my heart to hit him very hard. I carefully concealed this incident from F----, and for some days I never let Dick out of my sight for a moment; but early one fine morning a knock came to our bed-room door, and a voice said, "Please, sir, come and see what's the matter with the sheep? there's a large mob of them at the back of the house being driven, like." Oh, my prophetic soul! I felt it was Dick. Whilst F---- was huddling on some clothes I implored him to temper justice with mercy, but never a word did he say, and sternly took his gun in his hand and went out. I buried my head in the pillows, but for all my precautions I heard the report of a shot in the clear morning air, and the echo ringing back from all the hills; five minutes afterwards F---- came in with a little blue collar in his hand, and said briefly, "He has worried more than a dozen lambs this morning alone." What could I say? F----'s only attempt at consolation was, "he died instantly; I shot him through the head." But for many days afterwards I felt quite lonely and sad without my poor little pet--yet what could have been done? No one would have accepted him as a present, and it flashed on me afterwards that perhaps this vice of his was the reason of Dick's former owner being so anxious to give him to me. I have had two offers of successors to Dick since, but I shall never have another dog on a sheep station, unless I know what Mr. Dickens' little dressmaker calls "its tricks and its manners."


Letter XX: the New Zealand snowstorm of 1867.

Broomielaw, August 1867. I have had my first experience of real hardships since I last wrote to you. Yes, we have all had to endure positive hunger and cold, and, what I found much harder to bear, great anxiety of mind. I think I mentioned that the weather towards the end of July had been unusually disagreeable, but not very cold This wet fortnight had a great deal to do with our sufferings afterwards, for it came exactly at the time we were accustomed to send our dray down to Christchurch for supplies of flour and groceries, and to lay in a good stock of coals for the winter; these latter had been ordered, and were expected every day. Just the last few days of July the weather cleared up, and became like our usual most beautiful winter climate; so, after waiting a day or two, to allow the roads to dry a little, the dray was despatched to town, bearing a long list of orders, and with many injunctions to the driver to return as quickly as possible, for all the stores were at the lowest ebb. I am obliged to tell you these domestic details, in order that you may understand the reason of our privations. I acknowledge, humbly, that it was not good management, but sometimes accidents _will_ occur. It was also necessary for F---- to make a journey to Christchurch on business, and as he probably would be detained there for nearly a week, it was arranged that one of the young gentlemen from Rockwood should ride over and escort me back there, to remain during F----'s absence. I am going to give you all the exact dates, for this snow-storm will be a matter of history, during the present generation at all events: there is no tradition among the Maoris of such a severe one ever having occurred; and what made it more fatal in its financial consequences to every one was, that the lambing season had only just commenced or terminated on most of the runs. Only a few days before he left, F---- had taken me for a ride in the sheltered valleys, that he might see the state of the lambs, and pronounced it most satisfactory; thousands of the pretty little creatures were skipping about by their mothers' side.

I find, by my Diary, July 29th marked, as the beginning of a "sou'-wester." F---- had arranged to start that morning, and as his business was urgent, he did not like to delay his departure, though the day was most unpromising, a steady, fine drizzle, and raw atmosphere; however, we hurried breakfast, and he set off, determining to push on to town as quickly as possible. I never spent such a dismal day in my life: my mind was disturbed by secret anxieties about the possibility of the dray being detained by wet weather, and there was such an extraordinary weight in the air, the dense mist seemed pressing everything down to the ground; however, I drew the sofa to the fire, made up a good blaze (the last I saw for some time), and prepared to pass a lazy day with a book; but I felt so restless and miserable I did not know what was the matter with me. I wandered from window to window, and still the same unusual sight met my eyes; a long procession of ewes and lambs, all travelling steadily down from the hills towards the large flat in front of the house; the bleating was incessant, and added to the intense melancholy of the whole affair. When Mr. U---- came in to dinner; at one o'clock, he agreed with me that it was most unusual weather, and said, that on the other ranges the sheep were drifting before the cold mist and rain just in the same way. Our only anxiety arose from the certainty that the dray would be delayed at least a day, and perhaps two; this was a dreadful idea: for some time past we had been economising our resources to make them last, and we knew that there was absolutely nothing at the home-station, nor at our nearest neighbour's, for they had sent to borrow tea and sugar from us. Just at dusk that evening, two gentlemen rode up, not knowing F---- was from home, and asked if they might remain for the night. I knew them both very well; in fact, one was our cousin T----, and the other an old friend; so they put up their horses, and housed their dogs (for each had a valuable sheep-dog with him) in a barrel full of clean straw, and we all tried to spend a cheerful evening, but everybody confessed to the same extraordinary depression of spirits that I felt.

When I awoke the next morning, I was not much surprised to see the snow falling thick and fast: no sheep were now visible, there was a great silence, and the oppression in the atmosphere had if possible increased. We had a very poor breakfast,--no porridge, very little mutton (for in expectation of the house being nearly empty, the shepherd had not brought any over the preceding day), and _very_ weak tea; coffee and cocoa all finished, and about an ounce of tea in the chest. I don't know how the gentlemen amused themselves that day; I believe they smoked a good deal; I could only afford a small fire in the drawing-room, over which I shivered. The snow continued to fall in dense fine clouds, quite unlike any snow I ever saw before, and towards night I fancied the garden fence was becoming very much dwarfed. Still the consolation was, "Oh, it won't last; New Zealand snow never: does." However, on Wednesday morning things began to look very serious indeed: the snow covered the ground to a depth of four feet in the shallowest places, and still continued to fall steadily; the cows we knew _must_ be in the paddock were not to be seen anywhere; the fowl-house and pig-styes which stood towards the weather quarter had entirely disappeared; every scrap of wood (and several logs were lying about at the back) was quite covered up; both the verandahs were impassable; in one the snow was six feet deep, and the only door which could be opened was the back-kitchen door, as that opened inwards; but here the snow was half-way over the roof, so it took a good deal of work with the kitchen-shovel, for no spades could be found, to dig out a passage. Indoors, we were approaching our last mouthful very rapidly, the tea at breakfast was merely coloured hot water, and we had some picnic biscuits with it. For dinner we had the last tin of sardines, the last pot of apricot jam, and a tin of ratifia biscuits a most extraordinary mixture, I admit, but there was nothing else. There were six people to be fed every day, and nothing to feed them with. Thursday's breakfast was a discovered crust of dry bread, very stale, and our dinner that day was rice and salt--the last rice in the store-room. The snow still never ceased falling, and only one window in the house afforded us any light; every box was broken up and used for fuel. The gentlemen used to go all together and cut, or rather dig, a passage through the huge drift in front of the stable, and with much difficulty get some food for the seven starving horses outside, who were keeping a few yards clear by incessantly moving about, the snow making high walls all around them.

It was wonderful to see how completely the whole aspect of the surrounding scenery was changed; the gullies were all filled up, and nearly level with the downs; sharp-pointed cliffs were now round bluffs; there was no vestige of a fence or gate or shrub to be seen, and still the snow came down as if it had only just begun to fall; out of doors the silence was like death, I was told, for I could only peep down the tunnel dug every few hours at the back-kitchen door. My two maids now gave way, and sat clasped in each other's arms all day, crying piteously, and bewailing their fate, asking me whenever I came into the kitchen, which was about every half-hour, for there was no fire elsewhere, "And oh, when do you think we'll be found, mum?" Of course this only referred to the ultimate discovery of our bodies. There was a great search to-day for the cows, but it was useless, the gentlemen sank up to their shoulders in snow. Friday, the same state of things: a little flour had been discovered in a discarded flour-bag, and we had a sort of girdle-cake and water. The only thing remaining in the store-room was some blacklead, and I was considering seriously how that could be cooked, or whether it would be better raw: we were all more than half starved, and quite frozen: very little fire in the kitchen, and none in any other room. Of course, the constant thought was, "Where are the sheep?" Not a sign or sound could be heard. The dogs' kennels were covered several feet deep; so we could not get at them at all. Saturday morning: the first good news I heard was that the cows had been found, and dragged by ropes down to the enclosure the horses had made for them-selves: they were half dead, poor beasts; but after struggling for four hours to and from a haystack two hundred yards off, one end of which was unburied, some oaten hay was procured for them. There was now not a particle of food in the