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

we sat on logs of trees rudely chopped into something like horse-blocks, but to tired limbs which had known no rest from six hours' walking they seemed delightful. After we had finished our meal, the gentlemen went outside to have half a pipe before setting off again; they dared not smoke whilst we were after the cattle, for fear of their perceiving some unusual smell; and I remained for ten minutes with Mr----. I found that he was very fond of reading; his few books were all of a good stamp, but he was terribly hard-up for anything which he had not read a hundred times over. I hastily ran over the names of some books of my own, which I offered to lend him for as long a time as he liked: and we made elaborate plans for sending them, of my share in which I took a memorandum. He seemed very grateful at the prospect of having anything new, especially now that he was likely to be laid up for some weeks, and I intend to make every effort to give him this great pleasure as soon as possible.

We exchanged the most hearty farewells when the time of parting came, and our host was most earnest in his entreaties to us to remain; but it was a question of getting out of the bush before dusk, so we could not delay. He sent Sandy to guide us by a rather longer but easier way than climbing up the steep cliff to the place where the little clearing at its edge which I have mentioned had been made; and we dismissed our guide quite happy with contributions from all the tobacco-pouches, for no one had any money with him. We found our way back again by the notches on the trees as long as the light lasted, and when it got too dark to see them easily, the smouldering trunks guided us, and we reached the clearing from which we started in perfect safety. Good Mrs. D---- had a bountiful tea ready; she was much concerned at our having yet some three miles of bad walking before we could reach the hut on the outskirts of the bush, where we had left the trap and the ponies. When we got to this point there was actually another and still more sumptuous meal set out for us, to which, alas! we were unable to do any justice; and then we found our way to the station across the flat, down a steep cutting, and through the river-bed, all in the dark and cold. We had supper as soon as we reached home, tumbling into bed as early as might be afterwards for such a sleep as you Londoners don't know anything about.

I have only described one expedition to you, and that the most unsuccessful, as far as killing anything goes; but my hunting instincts only lead me to the point of reaching the game; when it comes to that, I always try to save its life, and if this can't be done, I retire to a distance and stop my ears; indeed, if very much over-excited, I can't help crying. Consequently, I enjoy myself much more when we don't kill anything; and, on the other occasions, I never could stop and see even the shot fired which was to bring a fine cow or a dear little calf down, but crept away as far as ever I could, and muffled my head in my jacket. The bushmen liked this part of the performance the best, I believe, and acted as butchers very readily, taking home a large joint each to their huts, a welcome change after the eternal pigeons, ka-kas, and wild ducks on which they live.


Letter XXII: The exceeding joy of "burning."

Broomielaw, December 1867. I am quite sorry that the season for setting fire to the long grass, or, as it is technically called, "burning the run," is fairly over at last. It has been later than usual this year, on account of the snow having lain such an unusual time on the ground and kept the grass damp. Generally September is the earliest month in which it begins, and November the latest for it to end; but this year the shady side of "Flagpole" was too moist to take fire until December.

It is useless to think of setting out on a burning expedition unless there is a pretty strong nor'-wester blowing; but it must not be _too_ violent, or the flames will fly over the grass, just scorching it instead of making "a clean burn." But when F---- pronounces the wind to be just right, and proposes that we should go to some place where the grass is of two, or, still better, three years' growth, then I am indeed happy. I am obliged to be careful not to have on any inflammable petticoats, even if it is quite a warm day, as they are very dangerous; the wind will shift suddenly perhaps as, I am in the very act of setting a tussock a-blaze, and for half a second I find myself in the middle of the flames. F---- generally gets his beard well singed, and I have nearly lost my eyelashes more than once. We each provide ourselves with a good supply of matches, and on the way we look out for the last year's tall blossom of those horrid prickly bushes called "Spaniards," or a bundle of flax-sticks, or, better than all, the top of a dead and dry Ti-ti palm. As soon as we come to the proper spot, and F---- has ascertained that no sheep are in danger of being made into roast mutton before their time, we begin to light our line of fire, setting one large tussock blazing, lighting our impromptu torches at it, and then starting from this "head-centre," one to the right and the other to the left, dragging the blazing sticks along the grass. It is a very exciting amusement, I assure you, and the effect is beautiful, especially as it grows dusk and the fires are racing up the hills all around us. Every now and then they meet with a puff of wind, which will perhaps strike a great wall of fire rushing up-hill as straight as a line, and divide it into two fiery horns like a crescent; then as the breeze changes again, the tips of flame will gradually approach each other till they meet, and go on again in a solid mass of fire.

If the weather has been very dry for some time and the wind is high, we attempt to burn a great flax swamp, perhaps, in some of the flats. This makes a magnificent bonfire when once it is fairly started, but it is more difficult to light in the first instance, as you have to collect the dead flax-leaves and make a little fire of them under the big green bush in order to coax it to blaze up: but it crackles splendidly; indeed it sounds as if small explosions were going on sometimes. But another disadvantage of burning a swamp is, that there are deep holes every yard or two, into which I always tumble in my excitement, or in getting out of the way of a flax-bush which has flared up just at the wrong moment, and is threatening to set me on fire also. These holes are quite full of water in the winter, but now they contain just enough thin mud to come in over the tops of my boots; so I do not like stepping into one every moment. We start numerous wild ducks and swamp-hens, and perhaps a bittern or two, by these conflagrations. On the whole, I like burning the hill-sides better than the swamp--you get a more satisfactory blaze with less trouble; but I sigh over these degenerate days when the grass is kept short and a third part of a run is burned regularly ever spring, and long for the good old times of a dozen years ago, when the tussocks were six feet high. What a blaze they must have made! The immediate results of our expeditions are vast tracts of perfectly black and barren country, looking desolate and hideous to a degree hardly to be imagined; but after the first spring showers a beautiful tender green tint steals over the bare hill-sides, and by and by they are a mass of delicious young grass, and the especial favourite feeding-place of the ewes and lambs. The day after a good burn thousands of sea-gulls flock to the black ground. Where they spring from I cannot tell, as I never see one at any other time, and their hoarse, incessant cry is the first sign you have of their arrival. They hover over the ground, every moment darting down, for some insect. They cannot find much else but roasted lizards and, grasshoppers, for I have never seen a caterpillar in New Zealand.

In the height of the burning season last month I had Alice S---- to stay with me for two or three weeks, and to my great delight I found our tastes about fires agreed exactly, and we both had the same grievance--that we never were allowed to have half enough of it; so we organized the most delightful expeditions together. We used to have a quiet old station-horse saddled, fasten the luncheon-basket to the pommel with materials for a five o'clock tea, and start off miles away to the back of the run, about three o'clock in the afternoon, having previously bribed the shepherd to tell us where the longest grass was to be found--and this he did very readily, as our going saved him the trouble of a journey thither, and he was not at all anxious for more work than he could help. We used to ride alternately, till we got to a deserted shepherd's hut in such a lovely gully, quite at the far end of the run! Here we tied up dear quiet old Jack to the remnants of the fence, leaving him at liberty to nibble a little grass. We never took off the saddle after the first time, for upon that occasion we found that our united strength was insufficient to girth it on again properly, and we made our appearance at home in the most ignominious fashion--Alice leading Jack, and I walking by his side holding the saddle _on_. Whenever we attempted to buckle the girths, this artful old screw swelled himself out with such a long breath that it was impossible to pull the strap to the proper hole; we could not even get it tight enough to stay steady, without slipping under him at every step. However, this is a digression, and I must take you back to the scene of the fire, and try to make you understand how delightful it was. Alice said that what made it so fascinating to her was a certain sense of its being mischief, and a dim feeling that we might get into a scrape. I don't think I ever stopped to analyse my sensations; fright was the only one I was conscious of, and yet I liked it so much. When after much consultation--in which I always deferred to Alice's superior wisdom and experience--we determined on our line of fire, we set to work vigorously, and the great thing was to see who could make the finest blaze. I used to feel very envious if my fire got into a bare patch, where there were more rocks than tussocks, and languished, whilst Alice's was roaring and rushing up a hill. We always avoided burning where a grove of the pretty Ti-ti palms grew; but sometimes there would be one or two on a hill-side growing by themselves, and then it was most beautiful to see them burn. Even