I was busily employed till late in the following autumn finishing the works I had in hand, and lived a portion of the time at Glent hills, Mr. Rowley's hill station, where I had a considerable contract for wire fencing with which Mr. Rowley was dividing up into extensive sections the wide valley in which lay the lakes Emma and Clearwater.
Glent Hills Station.
During the summer I joined once again in the general mustering, and lived on the mountain sides for days and nights together. It was here I contrived to catch some cold which caused a singing like the bleating of sheep in my right ear, and for which I subjected myself to the very doubtful advice and care of old "Blue Gum Bill," the shepherd who was for the time being my comrade. "Blue Gum" was a "lag," that is, a ticket-of-leave convict, from Australia. One of his hands, I forget which, had been amputated, and in lieu thereof he had affixed a stump of blue gum wood, with an iron hook inserted at the end. As is not unusual in such cases, "Blue Gum" could do more with this iron hook than many men could accomplish with a hand. He was a character in his way, and whatever may have been the cause of his enforced exile from the Old Country many years before, he was now a most exemplary old fellow, for whom I entertained a great respect and liking.
He said he could cure my ear, into which he assured me some small animal had entered, and it would be necessary, in the first place to kill it, when the noise would naturally cease. He made me lie down with my bleating ear uppermost, and proceeded to fill it with as much strong tobacco juice as it would hold. This operation he repeated several times, and appeared greatly disappointed on my complaining that the animal still continued musical. The ear troubled me for a long time, and eventually the hearing became impaired. Whether the fact that I never more than half recovered my hearing in that ear, and that for many years it has been almost completely deaf, is due to "Blue Gum's" doctoring or not, is scarcely worth entering into now.
When the winter had really set in, I started to pay a visit (my last it turned out) to my friends in Mesopotamia. On arriving at the Rangitata I met the wool drays on their return journey from Christchurch, waiting while one of the men was on horseback seeking for a ford, in which occupation he asked my assistance. The river was a little swollen and discoloured, and the course of the main stream had been altered during the flood. While seeking a fording place I unluckily got into a quicksand, and in an instant I was under the mare, while she was plunging on her side in deep water. I had released my feet from the stirrups upon entering, and was free thus far. I had hold of the tether rope round her neck, and presently we were both out, and as I thought safely. I mounted again, and after getting the drays safely over, I rode on to the station. Here, on putting my foot to the ground I found I could not stand, and from a queer feeling about the left knee, it was apparent that I had been kicked while under the plunging mare. For nigh three weeks I was unable to walk, and to this day I feel the effect of that kick.
I was, perforce, obliged now to keep quiet, and was not over-sorry, for the quarters were comfortable, and I was with my friends, and had leisure to read and work. Our evenings by the fire were very enjoyable, and many a story and song went round, or Butler would play while we smoked.
One evening, I recollect, he told us a very remarkable ghost story, the best authenticated, as he said, he had ever heard, and to those who entertain the belief that the spirits of the departed have power to revisit this earth for the accomplishment of any special purpose, the story will be interesting.