# Reminiscences of Earliest Canterbury/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV.
The British Pioneers.
In the section dealing with whalers, and as a partner in the firm of Messrs. Cooper and Levy, it will be remembered that the name of Captain W. B. Rhodes was mentioned in connection with land purchases in Canterbury. Mr. Rhodes came on to Canterbury, and negotiating with one Captain Leathart purchased from him for the sum of £800 his claim to a large block of land which he had bought from the Natives in 1838 at Akaroa. He then acquired a barque called the Eleanor, and having purchased at the Hunter River, New South Wales, fifty cows and two bulls at £16 per head, he landed them at Akaroa in November, 1839, and placed them in charge of one William Green. Those were the first cattle landed in Canterbury, and by Mr. Rhodes’s courage and enterprise this was the first attempt at stock-farming in the Province. At an earlier period, when Mr. Rhodes was in command of one of Messrs. Cooper and Levy’s whaling ​vessels (1834-5), he ascended the Port Hills, whence he viewed the Canterbury Plains. He described them as a vast swamp for the most part, covered with water, and showing two patches of bush.
After Mr. W. B. Rhodes took possession of his land at Akaroa he was joined by his brother, Mr. Joseph Rhodes, who, however, only remained a short time in partnership. He was succeeded by another brother, Mr. George Rhodes, who, a year or two after, came into the venture, and from this time onwards the firm was known as Messrs. Rhodes Brothers, and they proceeded to acquire immense blocks of land in Canterbury, Nelson, and Napier. There was at this early period no market for produce save the whalers, with whom all transactions were conducted on the system of barter. This made things very dull until 1843, when the advent of the Messrs. Sinclair, Hay, Deans, Greenwood Brothers, Gebbie, Manson, Prebble, and McQueen gave prospect of more cheerful times, especially as all those settlers were intent on fanning of one kind or another, but principally of a pastoral character. Besides those above-mentioned, there were several others, notably a Mr. Knight ​and family, who came in 1843 to Akaroa; also Messrs. William Lucas and James Wright, who settled on the south of Akaroa Heads; also Mr. Malcolm McKinnon, who settled at Island Bay, and Mr. Alexander McIntosh, who settled at McIntosh Bay. All these families began with dairy farming, Wellington being the only market for cheese and butter.
When the Hay and Sinclair families landed in Pigeon Bay they found four carpenters in the bight known as Holmes Bay. They were building two schooners. As they had to cut all the timber by hand, the work did not progress rapidly. They began in 1843, and in 1845 the vessels were launched and taken to Wellington. As at this period I was only four years old, I can just remember the vessels before they were launched. On completion of the vessels the Sinclairs bought the hut the carpenters had built, and moved into it in 1845.
Education was a big problem for the pioneers. There was too much work to be done for the parents to find time for teaching. By the time teachers were procured many of the children were grown up, so that the classes at school were, for a time, mixed with reference to stature and age.
​Another difficulty was the mail service. If a letter was sent to Great Britain, and an answer received within a year, the event was regarded as a sort of record. It was customary to wait double that time for a reply. The reason was simple enough. In the first instance the letters were sent to Wellington, where they often lay for months before an opportunity presented itself to send them on to Sydney. At Sydney they had to wait probably for months again before being despatched in a ship sailing for London. The early ships coming to Wellington went to Sydney for a cargo for the return voyage. Failing there, they would sail for China or some Eastern port, where they would load for London. It may readily be conceived that relatives in the Old Country, as well as pioneers in the young, had many anxious months to wait in suspense for news.
In the middle of the “forties” the Greenwoods of Purau kept a whale boat expressly to go to Akaroa (which was at that time the principal postal town for Canterbury) to ascertain if any letters lay there for themselves or their neighbours. In the event of the weather being too rough for the boat, one of the Greenwoods would walk, a task ​involving from two to three days. I have known one of the Deans Brothers to walk from Riccarton to Akaroa for letters at different times. In cases where a mail had come in he would take it all, and going far out of his way on the return journey deliver welcome letters to the settlers.
Hospitality was on a most liberal scale in those early days, and, after the arrival of the first four ships, was heavily taxed. The new arrivals roamed all over the country in search of land or occupation, and as there were no hotels or accommodation houses the pioneers had to furnish them with food and shelter. On two separate occasions I can remember my mother having to put up twenty-one visitors, all of them complete strangers, giving them bed and breakfast. Six or seven were regarded as quite a small contingent. Frequently those people arrived wet through, and in that event their clothes had to be dried, and dry clothes provided in the interim. Money was often offered, but I have never known an instance of its having been accepted. I have known Mr. John Deans to have thirty people for lunch; ten or twelve was considered quite a reasonable number. This state of affairs continued ​for two or three years, until gradually relieved by the erection of hotels and accommodation houses.
The living from 1843 to 1846 was chiefly wild pork for nine months of the year, and native pigeons in May, June, and July. During those months the pigeons were well flavoured and in good condition, but in August they began to feed on the kowhai flowers and leaves, and in consequence acquired a bitter taste, and became lean.
It frequently happened that the settlers ran short of flour, tea, and sugar. There were no flour mills in those days, so that wheat had to be ground by hand in a small contrivance resembling a coffee-mill. This was done at night and on wet days, and, the bran having been sifted out, bread was made either in “damper” fashion or baked in the camp oven. When tea ran out a substitute was made from the young shoots of manuka scrub. The favourite native tea was made from the “biddy-biddy,” collected in small bundles and dried. Very often this dry biddy-biddy was mixed with China tea to spin it out when the stock was running low.
There was much that was attractive in the social relations of those hardy old ​pioneers. There was a chivalry, mutual trust, and breezy warm-heartedness that gave to them a simpler but a broader and more joyous life, despite their hardships, than that of their grandchildren and great-grandchildren of to-day. Deeds and legal documents were rare in those good old times. The pioneer’s word was his bond, and many important bargains were made and fulfilled without the use of a pen. There were no road taxes, income taxes, or graduated land taxes. The only tax was a voluntary hospitality tax which was always cheerfully and bountifully met. No craze for speed on land or in the air harassed our hardy forefathers. They were content to walk, and to ride was a luxury. Their recreations were primitive, their wants were few, and their luxuries non-existent; but their lives were happy, and permeated with a charm which cannot touch us in our advanced civilisation with all its allurements and contrivances for ease, speed, and pleasure.
Travelling across the rugged bush-covered country of the “thirties” and “forties” was dangerous. I can remember six fatalities at different times. The first was a whaler going from one of the whaling stations on the ​south of the Peninsula to Akaroa—no trace of him was ever found. The next was Mr. Peter Haylock, who was overtaken by a snow storm on a dark night, and was found above Wainui frozen to death. Then came that mysterious disappearance of Mr. Dicken, of French Farm. He went into the bush at Barry’s Bay with his dog, and never returned. The vicinity was scoured by search parties comprising some 200 persons, but no trace was revealed, nor was any evidence of his remains discovered since the land has been cleared. All that is known is that after twenty-one days his dog crawled home almost done, and could never be persuaded to go back to where his master had been lost. The fourth instance was that of a Mr. Magee, who fell over a precipice. The fifth was a little half-caste boy, the son of Mr. John Flurtz, of Okain’s Bay, who wandered in search of karaka berries until darkness overtook him. The bush was searched for weeks, but without success. The sixth person lost was Dan Rogers. He was travelling in the dark from Akaroa to where the Akaroa Lighthouse stands, and is supposed to have fallen over the rocks and been killed. The place is called Dan Rogers Bay.
​Although rough and adventurous characters came from all quarters to New Zealand in those early days, there was very little actual crime.
Notorious for a brief period in the later forties as a kind of second-rate bandit was Blue Cap. This rapscallion acquired his sobriquet from the headgear he affected—a species of French cap. Behind the vanity which probably induced the adoption of such a covering there was doubtless a design thereby to accentuate the ferocity of his aspect, and by advertising his notoriety strike terror into his victims, and so reduce his personal risk during his delinquencies. The two companions he selected were evidently so honoured for their achievements in most varieties of moral turpitude. All three were ticket-of-leave men from Hobart. What were their actual names I never knew, any more than were any of them ever even baptised, which is problematical.
The best I can say for Blue Cap is that he was a daring scoundrel, and had he not had the misfortune to be up against men of the sterling stamp of our pioneers, his career would certainly have been a longer one, and most likely a more distinguished one, ​attaining, in the end, the honour of the gallows.
Whilst still obscure, and when on a reconnoitring expedition to Messrs. Greenwood’s house at Purau, Blue Cap passed a night at my father’s house. Instinctively my mother so disliked and distrusted the man that she would not permit my father to leave the house until after the departure of the undesirable guest next morning for Akaroa. Arriving there he confided to his “pals” that a splendid haul could be made at Hay’s place, for he had kept his eyes open whilst in the house, and had got much information and many inklings. Having matured their plans, all three embarked in a whaleboat, and, coming round the Peninsula, arrived at Pigeon Bay on a Saturday afternoon, and camped near Annandale House, my mother actually giving them a supply of milk and hot water for tea. As Blue Cap afterwards confessed, he had arranged to rob Annandale on Saturday night or early on Sunday morning. That he did not do so was due to the advent of four stalwart young Scotchmen who were accustomed to spend their week-ends at Annandale. Blue Cap’s discretion in abandoning his designs on this ​occasion did credit to his intelligence, for one of those visitors was such a Hercules, that, had he been roused, he alone could have overpowered the three of them. Without incident, therefore, they left Pigeon Bay during the Sunday night for Purau. On arrival there, they surprised the three Greenwood Brothers, as well as some men who were working on the place, and having tied them all, hands and feet, placed them on the kitchen floor. Then, selecting Edward Greenwood, the youngest and most peacefully disposed of the brothers, they released him, and, under threats, compelled him to collect all the money and valuables in the house. The doing of this necessitated the ascending the stairs to the upper rooms. In descending, the robbers were so intent on their booty, and in watching their prisoner, that they did not observe suspended on the wall over the stairway two double-barrelled guns and a rifle, all loaded with ball, and capped for shooting wild dogs. As Edward Greenwood was the last to descend he could, with one of those guns, have potted all three robbers in line, and so have effectually closed the incident. He was, however, peculiarly sensitive and humane, and, though ​not wanting in courage, preferred to suffer robbery than to take human life. Having collected their swag downstairs, they further requisitioned Mr. E. Greenwood to help them to carry the plunder down to their boat, and assist in the stowing of it. When all was completed, Blue Cap produced his watch, and, turning to Mr. Greenwood, said:—“I give you twenty minutes, but if, before that time, you release any one up at the house, I will return and shoot you.” The threat was, of course, simply bluff to secure a good start, but was especially unnecessary in view of the fact that fully twenty minutes would have been absorbed in the journey from the beach to the house; and were so absorbed, so that immediately on arrival, without scruple as to any breach of treaty, Mr. Greenwood released his brothers and the men who had remained bound during his absence.
A man was immediately despatched to Port Levy to acquaint the whalers there with what had just occurred at Purau, as it was surmised that Blue Cap’s next objective would be Riccarton, where he would endeavour to repeat his exploit on the Deans Brothers. Now, the Messrs. Deans were ​held in so much respect by the whalers, in common with all the early settlers, that the former lost no time in maturing their plans, and setting off in pursuit. They fully manned a whaleboat, and, crossing the bar at Sumner, pulled up the Avon, and with all despatch, reached Riccarton, and gave the alarm. Blue Cap and his confederates must have seen the advancing whaleboat in time to conceal themselves, for nothing was seen of them by the whalers. The former correctly divined the object and destination of the latter, but, being loth to abandon his attempt, he followed carefully, and, concealing his boat, camped in the Riccarton bush intending to wait there hidden until the whalers, concluding he had gone elsewhere, returned down the river. He would then have an opportunity to attack, and doubtless would have done so but for an accident that frustrated his schemes.
At Riccarton a strict watch was kept all night and for the next day or two, but nothing transpired until eventually a fall of snow revealed to some of the whalers the footprints and camp of the marauders. An alarm was immediately given, and a pursuit organised, but Blue Cap and his men ​escaped, making their way overland to Dunedin. On crossing a river one of them involuntarily expiated his iniquities by getting drowned. The other two reached Dunedin, where they were arrested, but there being in those days no Supreme Court in New Zealand, the criminals were deported to Sydney, where they were tried, convicted, and punished.
Fortunately almost all the stolen property was ultimately discovered and restored to the Messrs. Greenwood, but the incident itself so deeply impressed them, that when the added calamity of the accidental death by drowning of Mr. Joseph Greenwood (on his way from Purau to Motonau) overtook them, the remaining two brothers became so disheartened that in 1847 they sold Purau to Messrs. W. B. and G. Rhodes.
The two Greenwood Brothers went to Sydney with the intention of buying stock for their Motonau Station. With this object in view, Mr. James Greenwood had a considerable amount of money in his possession, but in some mysterious way, possibly connected with this fact, he completely disappeared, and has never been heard of since.
Mr. Edward Greenwood went to England, ​where he remained, never returning to New Zealand.
All three of the Messrs. Greenwood were straightforward, honourable men, and their loss from the ranks of the pioneers occasioned by such an unfortunate succession of disasters is much to be deplored.
The robbery above narrated occurred in 1846, and the rapscallions who figured in it were ticket-of-leave men from Hobart. They came here on board a whaling vessel, from which they ran away. After their desertion they could not, of course, return to Hobart, and, setting their wits to work, evolved the scheme of robbery, which, in a short time, brought about their punishment and discomfiture. It was just such a scheme as just such degenerates would hatch, and it panned out as such enterprises invariably do, after more or less suffering and hardship to the law-abiding people who had been unfortunate enough to be victimised.
What became of the whaleboat of Blue Cap and his gang I have never been able to ascertain. I should say almost certainly it was stolen property.
Fortunately visitors were not all of the Blue Cap type. In the early fifties the late ​Lord Salisbury and a friend, Lord Cavendish, passed through Pigeon Bay on their way to Akaroa, where they visited Mr. S. C. Farr, and stayed overnight. Next day they returned to Pigeon Bay, and thence went by whaleboat to Lyttelton. They had come from Auckland.
Early in the sixties a brother of Gordon of Khartoum was sawing timber in Duvauchelles Bay.
Passing to a celebrity of a different stamp, the famous Tichborne claimant was for a short time “boots” at Mr. Shadbolt’s Travellers’ Rest Hotel, Duvauchelles Bay. He frequently attended to and fed my horse before he left for Melbourne, and thence for London to push his claim.
Those who can remember the Peninsula when it was covered with virgin forest, and only they, can form any conception of the beauty that has for ever passed away from the landscape.
With the bush have gone the native birds that haunted it and filled it with song. In the spring the notes of the tuis, mako-makos, and other little bush songsters filled the air. In the autumn they were still more in evidence, for their ranks were swelled by ​the fledglings. Other birds were the native robin, native canary, etc. Paroquets darted in wavy green lines amongst the forest trees, and the pigeons soared and sank again into the tops of the matais. In contrast to our imported birds the native birds were remarkably confiding. Tame is not the word, for they were quite untamed, but they were trustful and confiding to a degree that was quite touching. The robin would hop round your feet, or settle within a few inches of your shoulder, and contemplate your features with a calm assurance that touched you, at the same time that it defied you to betray the trust he reposed in you.
The pigeon was of the same character. Several in succession could be shot from the same tree. This bird was much in request for the table of the pioneers, and it was easily procured when wanted. The native pigeon, besides his delicacy as an article of diet, which, after all, was a passive quality, had other habits which were of great benefit to those who studied him. He was, for example, an excellent barometer. At day-break, the pigeons were full of bustle and life, feeding greedily on the berries; but, if a storm were brewing, they would suddenly ​disappear, and remain hidden in the foliage until it passed over. Many times we profited by the warning thus given, and avoided a soaking, which otherwise we should have had to endure. In the beginning of May, huge flocks of these birds came over from the West Coast to feed on the matai, kahikatea, and miro berries. I have seen them actually darken the sky when betwixt me and the sun. Towards the end of July the same birds would muster for about three days, and then fly westward, leaving the local pigeons in possession of the feeding ground, but with little to feed on. On the departure of the marauders, the local birds sought the tops of the hills, where the pine berries were late in ripening. With those and the broad-leaf berries, which matured in July, they kept going until, in August, the kowhai burst into flower, and they fed on that until September brought them into spring once more, and food far more abundant. Pigeons were best stewed or made into a pie, and pigeon soup was king of the bouillons.
The other staple diet of the pioneers was, as has been mentioned, the wild pig. This animal, as everyone knows, was introduced to ​New Zealand by Captain Cook. Those pigs approximated the Tamworth breed more closely than any other. For example, when young, they were of a red colour, changing into grey as they got older. In form they were long-limbed, with long straight snouts, and were very hardy. When feeding on fern root or speargrass the flesh had an excellent flavour, and when made into bacon, its quality left nothing to be desired. The boars were very fierce when brought to bay, and, with their big tusks, and the rapidity and accuracy of their “glancing,” were formidable beasts at close quarters. They have now quite disappeared from the Peninsula.
Besides the pig, Captain Cook is credited with having left a cow and a bull, which the Maoris are said to have separated, sending one to the North Island, and retaining the other here, thus effectually checking any increase.
Sheep also were left, but they died from eating tu-tu.
Fowls he left also, and they increased for a time. There were in the early days many wild fowl in the bush in Pigeon Bay, but whether or not they were descended from ​Captain Cook’s stock I have no means of verifying. Eventually, they entirely disappeared.
Pheasants were first imported by Messrs. Smith and C. B. Robinson, in the Monarch. Mr. Robinson gave Mrs. Sinclair one pair. She kept them in a wire-house, but one having escaped, the other was let out. Instead of remaining in Pigeon Bay, the birds went straight over the hill to Port Levy in the early spring of 1850. They increased rapidly in Port Levy, but it was six years before they re-appeared in Pigeon Bay. Those were the English pheasants, and had no ring round the neck like the Chinese variety. These latter Mr. George Holmes imported in the middle of the “sixties.” The Chinese pheasants quite overwhelmed the English ones. Now both have completely disappeared from Banks Penisnula.
I have now to record, against a British subject, a deed of vile treachery that could not be surpassed by any savage. Captain Stewart, of the brig Elizabeth, has earned for his name an infamy of the deepest dye, and it is a pity he was never brought to justice and hanged, as he richly deserved to be. He consented, for the promise of a small ​gain, to become the tool of Te Rauparaha, who chartered his vessel to come south to Akaroa to enable the latter to wreak vengeance on an old chief.
The Elizabeth anchored off Wainui, and a signal was hoisted for the Maoris to come off and trade. Suspecting no treachery the natives, accompanied by their chief, Te-mai-hara-o-nui, came on board, and then Te Rauparaha’s men poured up from their concealment between decks, and killed as many as they could lay their hands on, afterwards following up the slaughter on shore. Te-mai-hara-o-nui and his daughter were secured, being reserved for torture, to avenge the death of one of Te Rauparaha’s chiefs, Te Pehi, for which, as it proved, Te-mai-hara-o-nui was in no way responsible. Te Pehi had been killed about a year previous to the sacking of the Kaiapoi pah, and the old chief was held responsible because he was the highest in authority in the South Island at the time. Te Rangi-heata was the chief entrusted by Te Rauparaha with his precious enterprise.
On the return voyage Te-mai-hara-o-nui was subjected to torture and indignity, which he bore with fortitude. One day, ​seizing a chance, he killed his daughter with his own hand to put her beyond the fate which he knew awaited her. When handed over to Te Rauparaha he suffered a terrible death.
Captain Stewart’s reward for this despicable subservience to a savage warrior was to have been a load of scraped flax, and there is some comfort in the reflection that he never got it. After his share in the massacre at Wainui, Stewart went to Sydney, where an attempt was made to prosecute him, but he got off owing to deficient evidence.
This scoundrel must not be confounded with the Captain Stewart who gave his name to Stewart Island. The latter was known in the early days as “The Discoverer,” was highly respected, and died in Poverty Bay in 1843 or 1844.
When I was young, flounders were very plentiful in Pigeon Bay. It was the habit of those fish to come up at night into the estuary of the small creek that entered the sea at the head of the Bay. They went out again by the morning tide. In the summer time, at full moon, by torch and spear, we have taken as many as 200 in one night. We kept them in salt water for many days until we got through them.
​Flounders were numerous in all the bays where a tidal stream entered, and were taken in large numbers by torch and spear. They disappeared many years ago, and I do not know of any bay on the Peninsula where they can be procured in this way.
Climate has certainly undergone a considerable change in Canterbury within my recollection. In the decade 1840 to 1850 the quarter from which we got the most rain was the south-west. It came in what we called “busters,” and each downfall lasted invariably three days. Our rainfall then, and even up to 1870, was heavier than now. At the present time a good deal of our rain comes from the east (E. N.E., and S.E.). To read Captain Hempelmann’s diary is to get evidence of the greater rainfall during the “thirties” and “forties” than we have to-day. His log shows an astonishing number of wet days when his boats could not go out and fish, especially during the autumn.
I often wonder if the dense bush that covered the Peninsula at that early period had an influence (now lost by its destruction) in attracting rain. The west coast of both Islands has always had more rain than the east coast.
​In the year 1862 we had the heaviest fall of snow on record since the advent of the Whites. Three feet of snow lay on the Peninsula ranges up to October 1st. Then followed the driest summer on record, during which there was great destruction of forest throughout the Peninsula. The snow in the first instance broke many branches, which, drying during the hot summer, formed a natural tinder, and increased the spread of fires. This was the year in which so many native birds disappeared by emigration, on account of the destruction of their food. Some idea of the dryness of this 1862-3 summer may be gathered from the fact that from September until March 11th there was only one shower of rain, which occurred on December 23rd, 1862, and, being a thunder shower, lasted only for an hour. On March 11th just enough rain fell to check the fires. No heavy rain fell until July.
February, 1863, was the hottest month we have ever had. I can remember at this time driving a team of eight bullocks, pulling a sledge laden with two and a-half cords of split black pine firewood. The runners passed over a piece of rotten wood about six inches long, which immediately took fire ​from friction, and in two or three minutes a conflagration was well started, and had my brother not, very fortunately, been following me, the place would have been burnt. He only just succeeded in thrashing the fire out.