I have seen a lawyer’s signboard. It gave the gentleman’s name, followed by barrister and solicitor. After this there was a translation of what was above in Maori. It finished up with ‘Roia,’ which I suppose is their way of writing ‘lawyer.’
Mac and I had the intention of getting out at Gisborne, and going thence, viâ the Hot Lakes, overland to Auckland.
When we heard that this was the place where the intelligent Maoris murdered all the whites on one occasion, that the stages by the coach averaged about fifty miles each, and finally that we might possibly fall into the hands of the Roias, we thought we would continue on where we were, and approach the Hot Lakes from the other side.
While lying at Gisborne, we saw a sight to which colonials are probably accustomed. This was the shipment of about 400 sheep. They came alongside in barges. At first the sheep were put in iron cages six or seven together, and then, by means of a steam-winch, hoisted up to the deck. This, however, was not quick enough, so a number of thin pieces of cord, very like log-line, were arranged with slip-knots. Each sheep to be lifted was secured by fastening the slip-knot round its stomach. Six or seven cords, each with its sheep, were then taken and fastened to the hook which before had raised the cages. As the chain with its hook tightened by the lifting of the winch, the six or seven sheep were dragged sprawling across the deck until they were suspended—when up they went, heads and tails, a living, swinging, twirling mass, bumping against the side of the ship until they reached the deck. Here they were released, and kicked and thumped until they moved to their proper quarters.
The whole performance was sickening, and all of us, who were not accustomed to see the handling of sheep, regarded it as brutal. Several of them died after this.
The Yank, who was always straightforward with his opinions, ‘guessed that these fellows’ (meaning those who were doing the torturing) ‘would figure in the Police News in his country.’
Maybe we were tender-hearted and our sympathies for the sheep arose from ignorance. Anyhow, its effect on me was sufficient to disturb my night’s rest. I dreamt I was in a big ship (it wasn’t in New Zealand), and all the officers on board were sheep. There were the little sailor sheep with blue shirts, and officer sheep with gilt buttons.
Presently a load of stout old gentlemen, some of whom seemed as if they enjoyed a glass of port wine and an easy-chair after their dinner, came alongside. These were directors of the steamship company.
When the sheep saw them, they were delighted, and skipped about on their hind-legs; for you must remember they were walking about and looking just like little men. After looking through his glasses at the cargo, the sheep-captain said:
‘Here are some directors. Get out the thin rope, boys. Thin rope, mind. Yes, that will do. Put it round their stomachs. Now hoist away—head and tail.’