Of course, in building the shanty, we employed the usual fashion prevalent in the colony. Because, when we set to work we said we were going to build a proper frame-house, not a shanty. That is a name for our habitation, which has since grown up into usage. We were none of us practised carpenters; but what did that matter? We knew how to use our hands; and had so often seen houses built that we knew precisely how to do it.
First of all, then, are the piles. These are of puriri wood, tough, heavy, and durable. They are rough-split sections of the great logs, some two feet thick, with squarely-sawn ends. They are fixed in the ground two or three feet apart, so as to bring their flat-sawn tops upon a uniform level. The irregularities of the ground are thus provided against, while a suitable foundation is laid.
The next process is to build a scaffolding, or skeleton frame, of scantling and quartering. When that has been done, the floor is planked over, the sides weather-boarded, doors, windows, and partitions being put in according to the design of the architect. Lastly, the roof is shingled, that is, covered with what our chum, O'Gaygun, calls "wooden slates."
Our shanty is thirty feet long by ten in width. The sides are seven feet high, and the ridge-pole is double that height from the floor. There are a door and two windows, the latter having been bought at the township. There is a partition across the shanty, two rooms having originally been intended; but as this partition has a doorway without a door, and is only the height of the sides, being open above, the original intention in raising it has been lost, and it now merely serves for a convenient rack. There is no verandah on the outside of the shanty, for we regarded that as a waste of material and labour.
The fireplace is an important part of the shanty. Ten feet of the side opposite the door was left open, not boarded up. Outside of this a sort of supplementary chamber, ten feet square, was boarded up from the ground. The roof of this little outroom slopes away from that of the rest of the shanty, and at its highest point a long narrow slit is left open for a chimney. There is no flooring to this chamber, the ground being covered with stones well pounded down. Its level is necessarily sunk a little below that of the shanty floor, which is raised on the piles, so the edge of the flooring forms a bench to sit on in front of the fire. The fire used simply to be built up on the stones, in the middle of this chimney-place; but, after a year or two, we imported an American stove, with its useful appliances, from Auckland.
Our shanty is the habitation of some half-dozen of us, year out and year in. There are in the district a good many settlers of the middle-classes. Men of some education, who would be entitled to the designation of "gentleman" in Europe. Of such sort are we. Some of us are landowners, and some have no capital, being simply labourers. Which is which does not matter. I shall not particularize, as each and all have the same work to do, and live in exactly the same style. There is brotherhood and equality among us, which is even extended to some who would not be called by that old-world title just alluded to, anywhere at all. We do not recognize class distinctions here much. We take a man as we find him; and if he is a good, hearty, honest fellow, that is enough for us.
A good many of us come from the classes in England among whom manual labour is considered low and degrading. That is, unless it is undertaken solely for amusement. Out here we are navvies, day-labourers, mechanics, artisans, anything. At home, we should have to uphold the family position by grinding as clerks on a miserable pittance, or by toiling in some equally sedentary and dull routine of life. If we attempted to work there as we work here, we should be scouted and cut by all our friends.
Out here we have our hardships, to be sure; we have got to learn what roughing it really means. It is no child's play, that is certain. But here, an industrious man is always getting nearer and nearer to a home and a competence, won by his toil. Can every one in the old country, no matter how industrious, say that of himself? Is it not too often the poor-house, or the charity of friends, that is the only goal of labouring-class and middle-class alike, in overcrowded Britain? Does patient industry invariably lead to a better fortune for the declining years in England? We know that it does here.
This is enough for one digression, though. Be it understood, then, that we are not horny-handed sons of toil by birth. We were once called gentlemen, according to the prevailing notions of that caste at home. Here, the very air has dissolved all those ancient prejudices, and much better do we feel for the change. Only occasionally does some amusing instance of the old humbug crop up. I may light upon some such example before I lay down my pen.
It is now some years since our shanty was built—seven or eight, I suppose. The edifice certainly looks older. Not to put too fine a point on it, one might candidly call it ruinous, rather than otherwise. This is singular and surprising; we cannot account for it. Frame-houses in this country ought to require no repairs for twenty years at least. That is the received opinion. We dogmatically assert that the house we built ourselves, with such infinite labour and trouble, is as good as any other of its size and kind. Consequently, it will not want repairing for twenty years. But it does. It looks as old as the hills, and seems to be coming to pieces about us, though only eight years old. Nevertheless, we will not forswear ourselves, we will not repair our shanty till twenty years are gone!