and reading to his unlettered brethren the advices from the Maori shippers at Hokitika. There were others, young and old, representing four generations in one direct line, the younger representatives being hearty English-speaking lads, some of whom had in past time been of service to some of our passengers by keeping a party of five supplied with fish and fowl—principally eels and wood-hens. It was evident, however, that the Maori denizens of the district were not now altogether reliant upon its natural resources, for here on deck we had bags of flour, of sugar, and of apples, with a camp oven, consigned to a gentleman of the name of Pipihini Hotomona, and others of that ilk. It was gratifying also to know that the natives were not more indifferent to spiritual food than they were to temporal, for we were told that by eighteen months’ labour they had built a church, in size 20 ft. by 12 ft., for the preservation and decoration of which all that was necessary was a supply of white lead. Considering that it had been two years since a steamer had called at Bruce Bay, it was not surprising that ecclesiastical architecture had been of such slow development in these parts. An absence of nails, putty, and paint would have proved a serious circumstance even to Solomon, had such been necessary elements in the construction of the Temple.
Up to the present time the population is still very limited at Bruce Bay. One or two residents there, and at Hunt’s Beach, a little to the northward, have found the advantage of combining cattle-rearing with occasional digging. Their supplies have been very irregular, as it is only when the sea is calm that goods can be landed in boats. But let us proceed on our journey.
Having seen the goods all safely landed; having seen Mount Cook emerge from darkness into brightest morning light, a glorious spectacle; having seen the sea-birds in flocks, fleeting on the wing, and looking for their breakfast; having heard the bell-birds sing their matin hymns, and the parson birds intone, as no priest could, their morning prayers; and having, in the midst of Nature’s harmony, heard the steward’s bell, the instincts of fallen man suggested mutton chops, coffee, and condensed milk. We followed the example of the sea-birds with much less of the poetry of motion, and they followed in the “Waipara’s” wake as she steamed slowly round the bluff of Bruce Bay, Paringawards.
Before taking leave of Bruce Bay, let me say, that its name and history date no further back than the advent of the little steamer of that name, a pioneer of the West Coast steam fleets. The brightest pages of Bruce Bay history is to be found in Mr Frederick Greer’s ledger, if that valuable and interesting volume is still extant, and the darkest in the memories of the men who were misled thither by their simple faith in Hunt’s honesty and his supposed faculty of facile gold discovery. Once the scene of a heedless, headlong rush ending in dire disappointment, in uproar, and in threatened outrage, and once with only two of a population—one a madman, the other his keeper—its short history is well-nigh as picturesque as its surroundings. Though its population is now very small, still it is not Sodom beyond all salvation, and if there is anything in analogy, the back country bears such a strong resemblance to that surrounding the Buller,
