"Touchstone” Makes a trip to Gisborne.

Gisborne Standard and Cook County Gazette, Volume III, Issue 457, 22 May 1890, Page 3

"Touchstone” Makes a trip to Gisborne.

AN ENTERTAINING DESCRIPTION. The chatty writer of Passing Notes in the Napier News took a run up to Gisborne on the Sunday before last, and he contributes to his journal, the News, a very entertaining account of the trip. Want of space prevents the descriptive notes being given in full, so we content ourselves with extracting those portions which are of most direct interest to Gisborne readers:— ‘SOFT AND STILL is the Sabbath morn ’ says the piet. ‘ The bearing of this 'ere observation lies in the application thereof,' said the immortal Buusby, but in our case there was no application. Napier we had left with the hills tinged with an old gold haze by the dying enu ; Poverty Bay broke upon us dark.dre’ary, drizz.y, not to say horribly wet. A black look out indeed Twenty miles had we gone past Oilopolis in the early morn, and Chatfield, skipper of that ilk, had debated whether to go oa to Auckland or not. He didn’t, and went back, and so, at about 8 a.m., we stood shivering on deck awaiting the arrival of that magnificent vessel the ‘Snark.’ Lewis Carroll—no rela ion to ‘ Jimmy,’ of the same surname—once wrote a bo.,k, entitled ‘ The Hunting of the Snark ’ I don't want to hunt for the Snark. After Sunday’s experience I should say ‘ don’t hunt fur her,’ for of all the d—ble, detestable, little beasts of a thing that ever floated on top of water ‘ that ’ere Snark,’ as Mrs Gamp would say, is the worst. When Jonas Chuzz'ewit whhed to bustle himself and his much better half away to Antwerp, Mrs Gamp was heard to remark ‘ That 'ere is the ankworks pickage, my love, and I wish it were in Jonadge's belly.’ I certainly should never grieve if I heard the Snark were in Jonadge’s belly.

ONCB ON BOARD OF HEB we had some fun—fun of a mild type. There was a nasty sea in the bay. Genial Dan Dougherty, the U.S.S. agent at Gisborne, jauntily eaid, ‘ Oh, it’s a mere nothing,' but the Legal Luminary held on to the speaking tube, the Admiral said he'd like to be aboard the Ahuriri, and as tot myself, I was in a blue funk and tried to look unconcerned—a most ignominious failure, so I was told afterwards. The first thing, after casting loose, that the Snark did was co try and aland on her head. This brought her about two feet under water, the result being that my feet aud legs were in the brine up to the knees. The progress towards shore reminded one of that of a drunken man trying to cross a street. There were tackings and shiftings, there were severs! imminent collapses, and there was a general anxiety on the part of the lookers on. If anyone wants a sensation, of wondering why the deuce he never learnt to swim, Isay, ‘ Try a trip on the Snark.' An ill-natured and grimly facetious person remarked to the Legal Luminary that the trip was so bad because we had two of the Devil's Own on board, but the Legal One, who cultivates a taste for repartee, pointed out the fact that there were three Salvation Army officers on deck, and that as sailors invariably calculate that one * sky pilot ’ means a storm, three of them—even of an unorthodox type —meant a big knocking about. To quit Snark ea.-castn, we crested ths bar, passed Gisborne’s glorious folly—the breakwater—of which more anon, and • fetched up ’ at t|te wharf, the ruin raining all the time, good steady, solid rain, driving rain, wetting through, rheumatism provoking, cuss words causing rain, a rain worth £2O a day to waterproof and umbrella manufacturers. the usual crowd were on the wharf of course, despite the heavy rain. Gisborne’s weekly sansition is the arrival and departure of ihe two big boats and to day is no exception, although it is a Sunday. Gisborne’s two big hotels, both excellent hoetelries, the Albion Club and the Masonic, each have their runners, but we declare for the latter. On the way up town the Admiral makes the discovery that Gisborne streets are muddy, and is indignant thereat, but the L L., wiih still a sneaking kindness for his old home, retorts with a • how about Emerson street.’ Once at the Mas.onic breakfast is done justice to in company with two distinguished men at any rate, Messrs A. C. Arthur, M.H.R., and Parnell. Yes, you may elevate your eyebrows in sceptical style, but I breakfasted with Mr Parnell, and a capital fellow he is, too. It’s curious how preconceived ideas of a man are falsified by personal contact. I had imagined Parnell to be a dark bearded, steely blue eyed Celt. I find him a slight, smart personage with a moustache of the heavy dragoon order and of that peculiar color which always suggests the idea of seeing two gray horses immediately afterwards. Alas, alas, the Gisborne Parnell is not the Parnell, for instead of rousing his countrymen to enthusiasm for the Cauee, he sells the very best Juno in toe town, and can bring you out a rattling good cigar if you want one*, in short, he’s a tobacconist. He is also a very good fellow, who, I feel sure, won’t mind me poking a little borak at him.

CHRISTIE MURRAY is here, ‘ writing away like a madman, all day long,’ so the waiter informs me. At his first lecture he delighted the people, and I hear on all sides expressed intentions to see the show again. Gisborne likes shows—good ones—and for its size is as good a little ‘ show town ’as there is in the colony. The St. Maur company, who were a comparative frost in Napier, did well in Oilopolis, greatly to the glee of the popular local speculator, Mr Willie Good, who ‘ bought the business,’and made a good thing out of it. Yarning away in the snug smoking room, and ruefully contemplating the dreary drip, drip of that everlasting rain, we—that is the Napier party and a choice band of stormbound C.T’s, recall the booming days of Gisborne, when the far famed Jimmy Scott ran the house, when ‘Wash’ Weaver, the Yankee oil expert, used to come down from the ‘ Springs’ with a mysterious phiz, when oil shares wont up into big figures after a ‘ good ’ rumour or dropped into their average worthlessness after a ‘ bad ' one.

TIMES HAVE CHANGED. Eheu /uyacss* Jimmy ’ is bust, reviled by hie creditors,%nd off to Auckland to manage instead of owning a pub. Allan McDonald, that great genial Hielandman, is away to England,a ruined man ; poor Fred Dufaur, merry old wag, and keenest of sporting men, dead—drowned in Auckland harbor. ‘ Charley ’ Ferris is in Sydney, all the old hands are either busted,nr else have ‘ foresworn sack,’ and vowed to • live cleanly.’ Everything is changed. Sitting here reminds me of a curious sight we witnessed one night. A Sergeant-Major, instructor of artillery, was one of the party, yarning over a final pipe before turning in, when a most hideous din was heard down s airs ; bodies were apparently banged|abnut, glasses broken in dozens—there was a perfect pandemonium. And above every voice was that of a certain local celebrity who, when he did 'go on the • bust,' went the entire porcine animal, and being a burly rascal, was wont to clear out the house. The tall old Crimean veteran at last could stand the noise no longer, and declared he would go down and bell the cat. Down he went in his slippers, pipe in mouth, as cool as a cucumber, and there in an inner bar was to be seen the robustious one, coat off, face ..fl line with bravery and brandy, the floor strewn with glass, everybody standing as far away from the madman as possible, and Jimmy Bcott behind his bar as meek and mild as A child, not daring to say a word.

GO QUIETLY, 1 Now, my good man,' said the Instructor to the row-maker, ‘ just go quietly home, will you?' Imagine the Czar of Russia told to go to bed by an imperial flunkey, and you can imagine the almost speechless surprise of the cock of the Gisborne walk told to go home. A minute of silence, and then a volume of abuse followed by a wild rush. Then occurred an amusing spectacle. The quiet, slightly made, tall, old gentleman tripped up his antagonist by ■ curious turn, lilted him. a good fifteen stone, by the collar and somewhere else—carried him, still shrieking out the most horrible language, along the passage, out of the front door, walked to ths aide of the road and simply deposited him in •bout • foot deep of Lows Street mud—it wet wlatat tins. Tbwi the eld said

I quietly, ‘ Now do go home quietly, my good fellow, or I may adopt stronger measures? Up went a great roar of laughter, the door was shut and refreshments ordered. I never meet Sergeant-Major Hyde, for he it was, without recalling that little incident and what he said after it, viz., ‘Always treat a man like that—mildly, never be too rough with him.’ Considering the expelled one had been thrown over the chains into a foot of mud, I have often wondered if that was mild treatment what would be the nature of the Sergeant’s rough treatment. Strolling up town we met several well known Gisborne men. Mr Townley is now Gisborne’s chief magistrate, and a deservedly popular citizen he is too. He is particularly proud of the fire brigade which did such great things at the last contest, and says his men mean to work hard to retain the position they have won. Generally speaking, the local quid nuncs seem to think that Gisborne has seen its worst days. A great many people have cleared out, but those who are left behind are more substantial, the freezing works employ labor, and in time will employ much more, Then again, there are great hopes of m re native land being brought into cultivation. The Land Court is sitting continuously, and the titles to several big blocks are being settled.

THAT UNFORTUNATE BBEAKWATEB, however, is a sore source of trouble. As a piece of work it is beautiful, and its solid appearance reflects the greatest credit on Mr Thomson, the engineer, but that it is in. the wrong place is apparent even to a nonprofessional eye. There is no sea room for vessels to swing in, and none of the big Union steamers would come inside were the breakwater carried out another 1000 ft. Worse than this, the work, unsuccessful ini* self, has caused the river entrance to silt up, and vessels which could formerly get inside and up to the town wharf, cannot do so nowadays. Training walls and what one might ceil a sand guard or groin have been constructed, and, so I'm told, promise to improve matters. Still, it is a great pity to see thousands of pounds of fine machinery lying idle, and to know that the work has been stopped. Worse than all, too, is the thought that the unfortunate settlers have to pay a heavy rate for what is admitted by all to be a dead failure. Gisborne's folly might not be so egregious a piece of folly as that at New Plymouth, but it is a bad look out for all that. By the way, speaking about breakwaters, the*e was great talk in Gisborne about the extraordinary revelations in Napier last week, and great is the kudos given to Mr C.irr for making the discovery he did. Mr Grainger’s successor, Mr Bicheno, has been on the Gisborne works since they were started, and I bear ve*y good accounts of him—‘a perfectly straightforward, industrious, steady and reliable man,’ says one who ought to know, and Napier is congratulated upon having secured the services of such a man. AFTER DINNER

we take a stroll up Gladstone road, the joy and pride of Gisborni'.es. It is certainly a fine wide thoroughfare—in summer the trees wi h which it is planted on each side give it quite ths air of a minor Parisian boulevard. But metal is scarce and mud is plentiful, far too plentiful. At about two o'clock the Tarawera turns up, much to our joy, for we have been haunted by a fear of her going on. ‘ Sinclair ■has a down on the place,' say Gisborne people, aud the captain certainly doesn't care about coming too close in, for he is quite three mi es out to day. However, the fear of being kept in Gisborne is o”er and we are correspondingly happy. Off by the first launch is the mot d'ordre at ths hotel, and the Lsgal Luminary and myself are off like a shot to the wharf. Aiae, the Admiral, beset by shipping friends, was non est and leave him behind we could not. Adis for the best, in this the best of worlds, and the first tripoers who predicted all sorts of woes when >he sea should get further up and dilated upon the horrors of -going off in the dark, actually had a much worse trip than ourselves, duckings being frequent, the Snark performing evolutions worthy of the Girards or the Donaldson brothers. Back to town and, thank goodness, the rain clears off and a sunshine actually appears. Had we had time a drive to Makaraka would have been jolly, but we had to content ourselves with more somewhat aimless strolling.

OF POLITICS I didn't hear much in Gisborne. There is no doubt that Mr Arthur is personally very popular, and justly so too, for he is one of the most genial, truly gentlemanly man I know, but Poverty Bay wants a representative with more ‘go ’ than he has got and’wilh energy enough to wake up its somewhat lethargic inhabitants. I don’t think Mr Rees will stand again. The new electoral district is absurdly large, and the great W.L. would have an easier work in Auckland, where, under the tegis of Sir George Grey, he may gain a seat. Great interest is, however, evinced by Gisborne people as to the next elections for Napier and Hawke’s Bay, and the opinion is freely expressed that if two ‘good’ men can ba got, the gallait Captain and the great J D.O might stand a good show of being defeated. I could spin you a whole column of yarns about the redoubtable

TOM COLLINS in Gisborne. A certain C.T. whose name is not George * North,' is credited with having perpetrated the most amusing hoaxes recorded, but a deep and dire vengeance was taken upon him, one of the hoaxed ones calmly annexing the joker's overcoat and umbrella from ths launch. Another O.T. brought the lost article down by the Tarawera. All things must have an end, and I dare say my readers are getting very tired of these rambling reminiscences. Bidding good bye to old friends, we departed by the Snark from the breakwater, battled with a* heavy sea, shipped some of it, got wet, used cuss words galore, and finally landed on board the steamer in lime for dinner, and oh, how cosy and snug was the Tarawera after the dreary trip out to her. A rough passage down, a very rough passage, a late arrival in tbs bay, and behold us once more on the good boat Ahuriri—what a change, my friends, from that hideous little Snark—and so back to town and work again by half past ten, and so ended a trip, which, if not altogether passed under the most pleasantest circumstances, had plenty of fun in it.