(presenting card): “Sir! I am Mr. So-and-So, an officer in the Indian army. You have insulted my brother, sir!” Warden: “Dear me; h’———m. I have also been an officer in the army. Bailiff! Turn this man out.” Mr. Price’s motto is nemo me impune lacessit.
At this time the roads were so bad that packers found great difficulty in getting from the beach to the Waimea, a distance of five miles, but reckoned twelve. Several diggers, whom I presume to have been unfortunate, took to packing, and amongst others Charles L. Money, known as “Charley the Packer,” and from whose book, “Knocking About in New Zealand,” I have extracted the following:—
“At this time the road from the beach up to the township, a distance of twelve miles, passing, as it did, the whole way through heavy bush and thick undergrowth, and crossing and recrossing the creek bed every hundred yards, was in a condition perfectly inconceivable to those who have not been to a great rush on the West-Coast diggings in New Zealand. Roots of all sizes, torn and mangled when small into a sort of maccaroni squash, and when large remaining a dead hindrance to both horses and man, caused the mud ploughed by cattle and pack-horses to assume the appearance of a torrent; so bad was it that the whole distance was marked by the bones of dead animals. The price given for the package of stores was £3 per hundred for the twelve miles, and I suddenly bethought me of the possibility of making myself into a very profitable pack-horse.
“Turning into the nearest store accordingly, I called for a nobbler, and asked the storeman, while he bittered the decoction, what he would give a man for bringing the various articles he required. He stared on hearing my question, and said, “Why, you’re never going to make a beast of burden of yourself, mate, are you?”
“I replied that I would make any sort of ‘beast’ of myself if the remuneration were only sufficient.
“He said, ‘Well, old man, you bring me the goods, and I’ll pay you the same as the hosses."
”‘Done,’ said I. ‘What are you wanting up most at this time?’
“‘Well,’ said the storekeeper, ‘I’ve had a run on my picks, so you can bring as many of them as you like, though they’re not a lively lot to carry about, and I should fancy would give a man a crick in the back. There’s a little keg of rum waiting for me down at the beach, so you can make up a load the best way you can.’
“I found the keg awkward enough, but the picks were altogether too lively to carry far. After working the skin off the small of my back I left them half way, and completed my journey with the rum cask. Next day, in place of wood and iron, I shouldered a
