On the whole, Pirate Tom did not take much by his economy on that occasion. But the lesson was not of any lasting use. He will go on in his old way, and will take his chance of accidents.

The defects of the _Lily_ do not cause us any annoyance, on this occasion of our first voyage aboard of her. She is on her best behaviour, for a wonder, and neither breaks down, nor bursts up, nor runs away. We steam over a great stretch of the harbour, noticing here that strange effect, when the distant land seems to be lifted above the horizon, and to have a belt of sky between it and the water.

Then we pa.s.s into river after river, proceeding up each some miles, to the townships, or stations, where we have to call, then descending into the harbour again, only to go on to the entrance of yet another river.

The scenery is very varied, and there is much in it to attract our regard. Sometimes we pa.s.s below lofty bluffs, by wild rocky sh.o.r.es and islets, sometimes along great stretches of mud-bank or mangrove swamp.

The land on all sides is a primitive wilderness for the most part. Range after range sweeps and rolls away, while ravines and gullies and basins open upon the rivers, with tumbling creeks or graceful cascades pouring through them. One might suppose that some giant of yore had ploughed out this country and left it. A newly-ploughed field must seem, to an ant's vision, something like the contour of this to ours.

The land is richly wooded. Here and there we see the heavy bush, mammoth trees soaring up, overhung with creepers and ferns; but the heavy bush is chiefly at some distance from the waterside. What we see most of here is the light bush; dense thickets of shrubs, and smaller trees, resembling our remembrance of the denes and copses of England, or Epping and the New Forest.

To us new-chums it seems absurd to call this bush "light," but we can see that it is so by comparison with the primeval forest, where the tree-trunks run from ten to forty feet in girth. Once upon a time, when they numbered millions, the Maoris inhabited these sh.o.r.es pretty thickly. They preferred to be near the water, as settlers do now, for the same reason of convenience in communication, and also because fish was a chief article of their diet. All the land near the rivers has been at some time under their cultivation, and the light bush has grown up upon it since.

So late as fifty years ago, the Ngatewhatua tribe, who were lords of the Kaipara, were very numerous; but were then nearly exterminated in a war with the Ngapuhi of the north. Still, numerous as they may have been then, they could not have held the immense tracts here under cultivation. That must date from a more remote period. But the places where their villages stood, in the early part of this century, are now buried under such a wealth of scrub and shrubbery, as to show very clearly how rich is the soil and how fruitful the climate.

We see at last what we have long been looking for, hitherto to no purpose, namely, Maoris and their habitations. Brown, gypsey-like people they appear in the distance, wearing ordinary clothes like Europeans, only dirty and ragged usually. Here and there we pa.s.s a cl.u.s.ter of their whares, low down near the beach--brown huts of thatch-like appearance, for they are made of raupo gra.s.s. Some of them are very neat, with carved and painted doors and fronts. Near them is usually some fenced-in cultivation, and possibly a rough-gra.s.sed clearing, on which may be a few cattle or horses. There are always pigs and dogs visible, and brown naked children disporting themselves on the beach, where canoes are drawn up, fishing nets spread out, and a scaffolding erected to dry shark-meat upon.

Few and far between are these evidences of the native race, and few and far between, also, are evidences of the new nation that is supplanting it. Frere, the statesman, speaking of Spain, said--he loved it because G.o.d had so much land there in His own holding. If he could say that of Spain's bare sierras and bleak barrancas, what would he not have said of this land, whose splendid woods and forests clothe the hills and fill the glens with verdure.

Here and there we lie off some settler's station, a white wooden homestead, perhaps with a few outbuildings beside it, perhaps alone; round it the pastures won by the axe and the fire, a mere bite out of the boundless woods behind. At such places "The Crew" paddles ash.o.r.e in the dingey, or possibly a boat comes off to us, bearing two or three bushmen, who, may be, think that the opportunity for getting a n.o.bbler ought not to be suffered to pa.s.s by.

We have three or four townships to call at, places where the Government has set aside a certain tract of land for a future town. A township site is cut up--on paper--into allotments, which are sold, or kept in the Land Office until wanted. From what we see of the Kaipara towns, they are very much in embryo as yet. Te Otamatea, for instance, is a single house and nothing more. This is our ideal of a bush settlement; it is as it should be--not too much humanity and crowd. The house, a rambling, wooden building, is of a good size though, being an hotel and store.

Round it are several hundred acres of gra.s.s. Sometimes it is very festive, for a large Maori kainga is not far off; and at Te Otamatea a race-course has been made, where the annual races of the Kaipara districts are held.

Altogether, we like Te Otamatea, with its beautiful situation and lovely views, better than Port Albert. This is a sort of bloated Manchester or Birmingham of the district. No less than six or seven houses are visible close together. If you count barns and byres, and such more distant houses as are visible from the steamer's deck, there must be over a dozen. It is horridly populous. Moreover, one sees here, so strongly marked, that uncouth rawness that attends incipient civilization. Nature has been cleared away to make room for the art of man, and art has not yet got beyond the inchoate unloveliness of bare utilitarianism. The beautiful woods have given place to a charred, stumpy, muddy waste, on which stand the gaunt, new frame-houses.

Gardens, orchards, cornfields, and meadows are things to come; until they do the natural beauty of the place is killed and insulted. But what have we to do with sentimental rubbish? This is Progress! Bless it!

Of course we did not expect to get to our destination all in a minute, for Te Pahi is more than forty miles from Helensville, in a straight line. We started about five o'clock in the morning, but it is late in the day before we get into the Arapaoa. By taking advantage of the tides, the _Lily_ manages to accomplish ten knots an hour. But the going in and out of different rivers, though we do not go far up any of them, and the various stoppages, short though they be, make it late in the afternoon before we sight Te Pahi.

We are coming up the broad Arapaoa, and before us we suddenly see Te Pahi, a vision of loveliness, "our" township, as we are already calling it. A high, wooded bluff, the termination of a hill-range behind, rushes out into the tranquil, gleaming water. Round the base of the bluff, on a little flat between it and the white shingly beach, are the houses of the settlement. Four families live here at this time; and besides their abodes, there are a row of three cottages, called immigrant barracks, a boatbuilder's workshop, and an a.s.sembly hall. The neatest, fairest, best, and to-be-the-most-progressive of all the Kaipara townships. We say this "as shouldn't;" but it is so.

The broad, lake-like expanse of water over which we are moving--four miles across from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e--parts before Te Pahi. It stretches away to the left in a wide reach, to form the Matakohe, out of which opens the Paparoa, hidden from sight at this point. Before us, bearing to the right, is the Pahi river. It is a vista of woodland scenery, glorious in the rays of the declining sun. Its sh.o.r.es are steep, and broken into numberless little bays and promontories, all clothed with bush to the water's edge. Far up, the towering ranges close down and terminate the view.

On the left of our position the sh.o.r.e is not so high, and we can see a good deal of gra.s.s, with the white homestead of a settler's station.

Beyond is what appears to be a chain of distant mountains. Looking to the right an exclamation bursts from our lips, for there is the loveliest view we have yet seen.

A deep, semi-circular bay falls back from the river, bordered with a belt of dazzling shingle. Beyond and round it rises a perfect amphitheatre, filled with bush more sumptuous and varied than any we have gazed upon all day. The range seems to rise in terraces, and just one abrupt gap about the centre discloses the peak of a conical hill behind. The whole is a perfect idyllic picture, not to be described in a breath; for this is the showplace of the Kaipara. It is Te Puke Tapu, famous in Maori history as the scene of a great battle.

Beautiful as this place is, it would doubtless soon have been marred by the pitiless axe and fire of the settler, but that it is sacred soil.

The Maoris will not enter it, and they prohibit Europeans from transgressing within its boundaries. Nor will they sell the land, although its superb fertility has induced some settlers to offer almost fabulous prices. For, under those rich greenwoods, caressed and buried in ferns, lie scattered the bony relics of the flower of Ngatewhatua chivalry.

So much and more a fellow-pa.s.senger tells us, while we gaze at the view, inwardly wondering whether wandering artist will ever present this glorious landscape now before us to people at home. But the story must be reserved for another time, until we are able to do justice to it.

At last the _Lily_ is lying right off the beach of Te Pahi township, and her whistle is echoing among the woods on the ranges above, scaring the s.h.a.gs, kingfishers, and rock-snipe on the oyster-beds and beaches. Very speedily, two or three people appear at the township, and one of them puts off in a boat to board us.

To him we are shortly introduced by the Pirate, and handed over to his care, as candidates for a berth in the immigrant barracks. We discuss a n.o.bbler, which is at once a farewell one with Pirate Tom, "The Crew,"

and the rest of our fellow-pa.s.sengers, and an introductory ceremony with our new acquaintance, "The Mayor."

A merry, athletic, thoroughly healthy and hearty Englishman is our friend, the Mayor, always in a hurry and bustle of business, for his avocations are startlingly numerous. He is the oldest inhabitant of the township, and was called the Mayor when he dwelt there solitary, a few years ago. Now he is postmaster, storekeeper, justiciary, acting-parson, constabulary, board of works, tax-gatherer, customs officer, farmer, dealer in everything, town clerk, lawyer, doctor, and, perhaps, a score of things beside, as they reckon such in Te Pahi.

The Mayor hurries us and our traps ash.o.r.e in his boat, and deposits us on the beach. Then he hastens back to the steamer, bidding us wait there, as "he'll be back to fix us before we can have time to wink."

Half a dozen men and boys--the entire population--stand at a little distance, regarding us shyly, but inquisitively, with pocketed hands.

Some young children are also apparent.

As we stand gazing about us, and wondering how to make acquaintance with the group, a little girl comes running up to us. It is always the superior s.e.x, you see, even in the bush, that make the first advances.

She offers us peaches, the little bright-eyed, sunny-faced thing; and readily submits to be kissed; indeed, appears to expect it. Then she prattles away to us in right merry fashion.

The little incident breaks the ice. The group of men come forward and enter into conversation. Perhaps a trifle constrained at first--for dwellers in the bush necessarily lose the readiness of people more accustomed to society--they show themselves anxious enough to be hospitable and welcoming. They are eager to know who we are, naturally, what we are going to do, and so forth. When it comes out that we have advented to join Old Colonial, we are admitted as chums at once, and formally accepted as free citizens of the soon-to-be prosperous and thriving town of Te Pahi.

By-and-by the Mayor gets back; and the _Lily_ steams off again on her way to Matakohe, where she will anchor for the night, returning to Helensville next day. Old Colonial, it seems, is away up the river somewhere, but is expected at the township that night, as he knows that the steamer is due, and that we were likely to come by it.

And now what are we to do? Go to the immigrant barracks, we suppose, since they are expressly designed for the accommodation of such new-chums as ourselves. Barracks be hanged! Is it likely that we are to be allowed to go there while the Mayor has a comfortable house in which to receive guests? Not likely! Why, others of the citizens are intent on hospitality as well, and any of the four homes of the place may be ours for the present, if we will.

But the Mayor is not going to be choused out of his guests; don't you believe it! What is he Mayor and boss of the township for, he would like to know, if not to look after new-chums? Besides, on his own sole responsibility, he has turned the immigrant barracks into a warehouse for produce, since no immigrants ever seemed to be coming to occupy them. So, he is in a measure bound to take possession of us, don't you see? and, by Jove, he means to, what's more!

Then we walk along to the Mayor's residence, and a comfortable, well-furnished house it is, quite a surprise to us, who hardly expected home-comforts in the bush. But then the Mayor is a thriving man, and has a wife to look after him.

A cheerful, amiable lady bids us welcome, with a heartiness as though she were only too glad to see us, although it would appear as if her hands were full enough of housework already, without the additional care of looking after a couple of helpless, unready new-chums. But strangers are so rare up here, that much must be made of them when they do come; therefore, the fatted calf is killed, so to speak, and we are regaled in handsome fashion.

Later, after supper, there is a sudden arrival in the darkness of the night. We hear a stamping on the verandah outside, and a loud, l.u.s.ty, half-remembered voice addressing the Mayor.

"Have they come, I say? Where are they, then?"

The door of the room we are sitting in bursts open, and a burly, bearded man, rough and savage enough in outward appearance, sooth to say, rushes in upon us. He seizes our hands in a grip that brings the tears to our eyes, he shakes them up and down with vehemence, and while we are trying to make out whether this Old Colonial can really and truly be our sometime schoolfellow, he exclaims--

"Well, this _is_ good! I _am_ glad to see you! _Now_ we'll have a splendid time! Now we'll _make_ this old place hum round! Oh, but this is glorious!"

Thus, and much more; and so, with the true, hearty good-fellowship of the bush, are we welcomed to our future home.

And now that we have arrived at the scene of our future work, let this chapter close. No need any longer to pursue our history as new-chums. In the pages that follow we will resume the story at a further date, when we have arrived at the full estate of settlers and colonists. Such thread of narrative as these sketches possess shall henceforth be unwound off another reel.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 4: It must be remembered that this is ten or twelve years ago though it holds good down to 1876. Since the railway was made more colonists have come into the district, and two fine new steamers now ply on the Kaipara waters.]

CHAPTER V.

OUR SHANTY.

Several years ago now, we bought our land from the Maoris, and settled down here upon the Pahi. Necessarily, our first proceeding was to construct a habitation. We might have employed the carpenter and boat-builder, who resides at the township, to put up a good and well-made frame-house for us, for a price of a hundred pounds or upwards. But we had entire confidence in our own abilities, and besides, there was something enticing in the idea of building our future home with the actual labour of our own hands.

Moreover, there was another reason, possibly of chief importance: we could not afford to pay for a house. After paying for our land, paying for our farm-stock, and calculating our resources for meeting the current expenses of the first year or two, we found there was but slight margin for anything else; therefore we decided to build a shanty ourselves. Meantime, we were camped on our new estate in a manner more picturesque than comfortable. A rude construction of poles covered with an old tarpaulin sufficed us. It was summer weather, and this was quite good enough for a beginning. From step to step, that is the way to progress, so we said. First the tent or whare, temporarily for a few weeks; then the shanty, for a year or two; then, as things got well with us, a well-finished frame-house; finally, a palace, a castle in the air, or anything you like.