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day’s journey. It came on to rain hard, and the river, already swollen, began to rise considerably so that we had to keep on until we got to what we thought was a place of safety. By this time it was quite dark, and the bushes being wet and very thick with supplejacks and lawyers, we could not get very far into the thicket, and so we had to make the best of a bad bargain. We stood upright, all this cold June night, with our blankets wringing wet over our shoulders, our clothes in the same condition. We had no fire—the rain was pouring down incessantly—and the water was up to our ancles; we had to keep dabbling our feet about all night to keep the blood in circulation. Then, as back to back we leant against the forest pine, we took to singing. Oh, the long hours of that dreary winter’s night still make me shiver at the recollection! I remember obliging them with a song named the “Gipsy Tent,” when from my tall friend, under whose lee I had got for shelter, came forth a dismal sound in mournful cadence, the trembling accents of which seemed to be wrung from the bottom of his very boots: “O-oh what a pret-ty-so-song that would be-e-e under dif-if-erent—cir-cir-cum-st-tances.” Then next we talked of something nice, such as sucking-pig, or the savoury duck; then again my long companion, in sepulchral tones that floated away on the night breeze, muttered a long, imploring “O-oh—do-don’t!” that seemed as if the very thoughts of comfort struck with a chill to his heart. Doubtless he was chilled enough, and prepared to live the misery down, rather than speculate on bright and happier moments; but still it added mirth to our miserable plight, and enabled us to while away the chilly hours of the night. But daylight at last appeared, and a welcome sight it was; we again commenced our journey with cheerful hearts, for the labour put warmth into our bodies.
For four days we struggled against the elements, striving to gain the place where the gold had been found by the Maoris, but in vain; we made but poor headway, for the Buller of 1860 was very different to the Buller of to-day. Being in the water all day, and having wet blankets at night, we were at length compelled to give up, after having camped on the banks of the river two or three days to await its falling.
To show the strength of the current, I will mention that on the return journey we were only two hours accomplishing that which in the ascent, occupied four days. Shooting the falls astonished our nerves a bit, and almost made our hair stand upright. Neither I nor my companions had ever been over any like them before, but I have taken them scores of times since without any fear.
When we arrived at the port Mr. Rogers told me that some Maoris had been up the River Waimangaroa, where they had found gold, and that they had brought down a small nugget. We could not at that time stop to get any further intelligence, as our provisions were nearly out, and I was anxious to get back to
