Camp Fire Yarns of the Lost Legion

by G. Hamilton-Browne

Now for the yarn. In 1874 I was located at a place called Wai-Tangi (Murmuring Water), a native kainga, on Lake Tarawera, and one day determined to go pigeon and kaka (New Zealand parrot) shooting in the densely bushed ranges on the east side of the lake. The lake is a very beautiful one, of large size, surrounded by mountains, among which is the volcano Mount Tarawera, and at the south-west corner is the creek that leads up to Rotomahana and the wonderful terraces.

At the date I write about Mount Tarawera was quiet, and everyone thought it had retired from the volcano business; but some years afterwards, 1886, it took a fit, broke out, blew the terraces galley west, destroyed a great deal of property and killed a good few people, among others my quondam hosts at Wai-Tangi. Now the New Zealand kaka and pigeon are, in the fall of the year, very toothsome birds indeed; they get very fat on the berries of the gigantic trees, and the Maoris have a very good way of preserving them. I mention these last facts, as, previous to my departure from the kainga, I had told my host, the chief of the place, that I was going to try to kill a great many birds, had requested him to order a woman to make a couple of large bark buckets to preserve them in, and had also intimated I might camp out or stay for a night or two at one or other village on the lake.

This was unfortunate, as, subsequently, the Maoris took no notice of my prolonged absence and did not come to look for me, as they concluded I was staying somewhere else; and it was only on the day of my return the old chief, having become anxious, started a party of young warriors to paddle round the lake to find out if I were all right.

Well, I started off in a canoe, taking with me my gun, fifty No. 4 shot cartridges, some tea and sugar, a couple of blankets and half-a-dozen ship biscuits. I should also have taken a young warrior, but as all the natives were engaged on their plantations, I went alone. It was a lovely day, the lake as calm as a millpond and the splendid scenery most entrancing. I paddled slowly out of the little bay at the head of which the kainga stood, and after a few minutes’ contemplation of the glorious bushed mountains, whose beauties were reflected as in a mirror on the glass-like water, I struck out across the north-east corner of the lake and made for the east shore, where I meant to beach my canoe in some small bay at the mouth of one of the numerous creeks that ran into the lake, then ascend the bed of the creek, get on the top of the high ranges, where there is comparatively little undergrowth, and shoot my game. After a few miles steady paddling I reached the shore, where there was rather a deep inlet, grounded my canoe on the beach at the head of it, where a fair-sized creek entered the lake, and landed.

Now I mentioned before that I had made the best use of my frontier education; so at once I dragged my canoe out of the water as far as I could and made fast the painter to a stout tree, then overhauled my belongings. I was dressed in proper bush outfit: a serge jumper, flannel shirt, smasher hat, good strong shooting boots and a shawl round my waist instead of trousers. In my belt I wore a tomahawk and sheath knife, and slung on to the back of it was a strong tin pannikin. I also carried on my belt a leather pouch containing a metal damp-proof box full of matches, a burning-glass, a plug of tobacco and my pipe. My cartridges I wore in a bandoleer over one shoulder, and over the other I wore one of the old-fashioned game bags. I was very strong in those days and did not mind a little extra weight; so after I had lunched on a biscuit and a lump of cold pork I put the remaining biscuits, a tin containing tea and sugar mixed, and a small one holding salt and pepper mixed, into my bag, hid my blankets and paddle, and after a glance to see that my canoe was all right, I entered the creek and started up the range.

For some distance the brushwood and undergrowth were too thick for me to be able to see a bird on the tree-tops, but as I got higher up the range the bush thinned out, so that I could occasionally get a shot, and I found when I came to the summit I had bagged three brace of birds. These I hung up on a rata-tree and I out tomahawk and blazed it well, so as to let me know, on my return, it was the point at which I was to descend to the lake. The country I found myself in was very broken, and what had appeared from the lake to be a straight range of mountains running from north to south I found to be a regular jumble of broken ridges, cliffs and spurs that seemed to be mixed into several ranges that took no definite direction at all. This sort of country is very dangerous to explore and, knowing the fact, I ought to have taken precautions and exercised the greatest care. I did neither; for I wandered on after the birds and presently began thinking about some important letters I had lately received from home, and other matters, without even noting any of the salient landmarks, or the turnings and twistings of the broken ridges and spurs I was walking among. Nor did I turn round and spot landmarks to guide my return journey. This was an act of folly unpardonable for a scout who knew his work and who was quite aware of the danger he was running. Yet the very best and most experienced bushmen sometimes commit an act of folly, and, not being infallible, I had in my turn committed a very grave one. For when the approaching dusk warned me it was time to regain my canoe I turned round, and in a moment knew I was lost. You may ask how it was I knew at once I was lost. I will tell you.

Every scout worth his salt should carry in his head a map of the road he has been traversing that day, and when he is about to return on the back track he should at once be able to see that road with his mind’s eye, its salient points, its landmarks, its difficulties, and everything worthy of note along it. Well, when I turned I naturally cast my mind’s eye on to my map and found a blank. I had noted nothing from the time I had hung up the birds and blazed the first tree; and I cussed myself for my folly. It was now I felt bush fear; for a desperate longing came over me to run and try to find my way; but this I combated with all my will-power, and after a minute’s struggle forced myself to sit down under a tree and think if I could not remember anything that might recall the road to mind; but in vain. The only thing to guide me was that I had shot a pigeon which had fallen into a fork of a tree and stuck there; that incident could be of but little use to me, yet I treasured it. Again the desire, stronger than ever, came over me to run and look for the tree I had blazed; and again I had to fight it away.

Was I, fool as I had been, to lose my head and run mad through the bush like an untrained new chum? Not by a jugful. I would camp where I was, and next morning, with a clear head, would try to unravel the puzzle. Work was the thing for me, and I turned to. It did not take me long to collect plenty of firewood and make down a good fern bed. Water I could hear close by, and when I had filled my pannikin I lit my fire, for night falls quickly in the New Zealand bush, and overhauled my stores. I had my gun and over thirty cartridges left, and, besides what food I had brought with me, I had ten fat birds; so there was no fear of starvation for a long time. I had also no fear of thirst, as there is always plenty of water to be found in a New Zealand bush; so I was well off, though I could not disguise the danger. Anyhow I would have supper and think matters out, over a pipe, afterwards. In next door to no time I had two birds plucked, cleaned, and spitted on a splinter of wood, with a biscuit on a clean piece of bark under them. My pannikin, full of water, on some embers, soon boiled; to this was added some tea and sugar mixed, and I had a feast for the gods. True, I only had my sheath knife and fingers to eat with, but what of that? I was an old campaigner and could dispense with luxuries. Then, my meal over, I lit my pipe and thought out my position. I was in a hole, that I knew, and I should require all my bushcraft to get out of it. It was not as if I was in a forest on a plain, but I was in a regular jumble of broken ridges, valleys and spurs, all of them heavily bushed. The only thing I had to look for was a blazed tree with some birds hanging on to it, and I did not know if I were north, south or east of it; nor could I judge my distance from it; for although I knew I had walked about four hours and a half, and that I had turned south when I left the tree, yet, for all I knew, I might have worked round in a circle and at the present moment be due north of it, or have turned farther to the east.

My pipe finished, I determined to sleep if I could, so as to be fresh in the morning, and also to try to get rid of the feeling of solitude that now attacked and surprised me. I had frequently had to pass the night alone, aye, many a time, without fire or food, not daring to light the one and having none of the other; yet I had never felt so lonely or deserted before; for although I well knew there was nothing in the New Zealand bush that could hurt me, still I kept on looking over my shoulder, or glancing to right and left into the darkness, and I could now realise the feelings that men who had been lost and found had tried to describe to me. They had been tenderfoots. Faugh! I was an old hand; I had never funked the Hau Haus when they had been on the warpath after me. Why now should I let these childish qualms assail me and funk shadows? Yet they were there; and I confess them to you so that you may know how absolutely necessary it is for you, in case you should ever be in the same fix, no matter how experienced you are, to keep a tight hold over yourself, and not let your nerves get away with you. Rolling myself up in my shawl, I lay down on my fern bed (a very comfortable bed it is too, if you know how to make it properly) and, thinking over my plans for the morrow, went to sleep.

I awoke at daybreak refreshed and fit. A cold bath in the creek. A good breakfast. Then selecting a huge tree, I climbed it by shinning up one of the big pendent vines, and had a good look round. I had hoped to be able to see the lake, but could see nothing of it; nor could I recognise any of the loftier mountains; but I knew the lake must be to the westward of me, and as there seemed to be a higher range in that direction I determined to make for it, though I could see no spur running in a direct line towards it. I therefore descended and, carefully blazing the big tree under which I had camped, started, taking care to blaze all the trees on my line. My reason for doing so (and bear it in mind) was, I had reached the spot where I found myself lost, without going down into any of the deep valleys that surrounded me. Had I done so, I must have remembered the fact, as all the valleys were full of dense undergrowth, and I should have had to cut a road through it.