Famous Feet

Thomas Chaseland, half caste Aboriginal, sealer, whaler and pilot was a giant of a man.  His acts of brutality and bravery and his skills as a seaman are well documented but he is also remembered for a stumble on a beach which resulted in one of the most important archaeological discoveries of the nineteenth century.                            

Perhaps it was inevitable that the man who was considered to be the ‘best whaler in New Zealand’ should eventually be employed by Johnny Jones, (once) the richest man in Otago.  Jones once owned seven whaling stations and must have been willing to employ the legendary Tommy Chaseland.                                                                          

In the 1820’s and early thirties Tommy survived brutal skirmishes with Maori in Fiordland and had endured two (or possibly three) shipwrecks. On one occasion Chaseland and his wife Puna navigated a passage to Moeraki in an open whaleboat after having being shipwrecked in the Chatham Islands; on another he swam six miles in the freezing Southern Ocean to seek rescue after his whale destroyed his boat. In 1835 at Preservation inlet in Fiordland Chaseland and another man took eleven whales in seventeen days – an act that was described at the time as the “greatest feat of its kind ever performed in this country.”  It could also have been described as the most wasteful; at that time the station had no barrels; and with no means of storing the oil, none was harvested, whalebone alone was collected and mountains of blubber were left to rot.                                                      

Two years later Johnny Jones purchased this station from a man named Edwin Palmer whom Jones persuaded to stay on as station manager; Chaseland was promoted to ‘chief headsman.’  Among the whaling crew at the station was a young runaway sailor named Charles Denahan.  Denahan had been instructed to take care of one of the station’s whaleboats, but let it drift onto rocks where it was destroyed.  Chaseland gave the boy an initial beating, which was followed by a ‘ropes ending’ administered by Edwin Palmer.  The beatings must have been brutal – when Denahan died his body was described as being “black, yellow and blue from the ankles to the shoulders.” Chaseland escaped punishment but Palmer was eventually charged with manslaughter and tried in Sydney. Johnny Jones ‘fixed’ the matter by offering bribes to one crown witness and arranging for two others to be shipped out of Australia before they could be called to give evidence.  After an adjournment that lasted half an hour the jury returned a verdict of not guilty.  Jones had illustrated the lengths he was prepared to go to, to protect valued employees and they in turn, found ways to repay his loyalty.                                                                                   

In 1843 Chaseland signed an agreement to work at Jones’s station in Waikouaiti and on the 14^th of August that year his marriage to Puna was formalised by Waikouaiti’s resident missionary the Reverend James Watkin.                                       

Chaseland’s particularly acute eyesight was legendary – he was known to have sighted a whale that was invisible even with a telescope and was rumoured to be able to see a mile beneath the ocean. His near vision may not have been as good however, while walking on the beach near Waikouaiti he struck his foot on a bone projecting from the sand. It was identified as belonging to a Moa.        

                                                           

They were not the first Moa bones to be discovered (that find had occurred in 1837) but they were the first to be uncovered in an area that was once a swamp.  The whalers of the Waikouaiti station were well aware of the value of the bones and set about trying to discover more. Unfortunately, not being palaeontologists they chose to dig with a pickaxe creating “sad havoc.”  More bones were exposed with each receding tide and at some point Tommy Chaseland discovered (and carefully excavated) a perfectly preserved pair of Moa feet standing erect and about a yard apart.  He presented his prize to his employer Johnny Jones.                                           

Some years later Jones presented (or perhaps sold) these “splendid and unique fossils” to a visiting naturalist named Walter Mantell who examined the holes from which they had been dug and sketched the orientation of the feet. He also described the rough excavation and handling of the specimens as “hunnish behaviour.”

“Bones of the right foot of the moa, or extinct colossal ostrich-like bird of New Zealand.” Found at Waikouaiti by Walter Mantell.  –From a Pictorial Atlas of Fossil Remains (London, 1850) 

Mantell’s notes read: “This unlucky Moa, happily for science, must have been mired in the swamp and being unable to extricate himself, has perished on the spot.” 

“The location of this bed is in a little bay, on the side of the bar of sand that unites the headland called Island Point with the mainland at the entrance of the river Waikouaiti”         The bone-bed is an ancient swamp or morass, in which the New Zealand flax once grew luxuriantly; it is now covered by a layer of sand, and is submerged at high water being visible only when the tide has receded. 

                                                                                                                                              

Walter Mantell was not the first person to excavate bones from the site, but he made the largest collection of specimens there and provided the best description of the area in which they were found. His tactic seems to have been to harvest and remove as many specimens as quickly as possible.  Between 1847 and 1850 he collected “more than 1000 separate bones and also fragments of eggs, which shipped in bulk to the British Museum with little attempt made to document details of individual specimens.  The Waikouaiti Moa feet were unique in that they were perfectly intact, and their location and orientation were carefully recorded. This sketch of Mantell’s made in 1852 shows his party leaving a site in North Otago carrying enormous bundles of specimens.  He named the site ‘Awamoa’ – meaning moa stream.                                                                                                                           

The specimens provoked intense debate.  Evidence of Moa hunting was incontrovertible, but the central question remained – who were their hunters and when did their hunting occur?  In the absence of carbon dating great importance was given to traditional Maori Folklore.  Elaborate anecdotal accounts were recorded.  The Reverend Watkins reported fables about “immense birds which were formerly said to exist.” Unfortunately his report also referenced “an immense serpent of the water species."                                                         

Watkins’s son Edwin added to the debate. In 1892 he wrote a letter to the Otago Daily Times in hopes that his contribution “may be of interest to those scientific men who hold that it is not long since the Moa became extinct.” He wrote:  “I remember when a little boy seeing daily ‘Kawko’ the old chief, at Waikouaiti.  He had all the appearance of a very old man.  I judge that he was quite 70 years of age.  He told my father that when he was a very little boy he saw a live moa that was as tall as a horse.  Being afraid, he hid himself in the fern.”

A tall tale? Or a true account of an encounter with a tall bird?

Whale Tales

Before the discovery of gold, Otago’s wealth came from ‘black oil’ that was harvested from southern right whales.   All species of whales were regarded as fair game, but female right whales and their calves were (once) numerous and migrated in a predictable annual manner up the inshore waters of New Zealand’s east coast.                                                             The industry was lucrative.  In 1838, the year that Johnny Jones purchased the Waikouaiti whaling station, his men captured forty one whales, generating profits that repaid Jones’s investment twenty times over.  This level of productivity was never repeated; indiscriminate slaughter rapidly depleted breeding stock and whale numbers fell precipitously and predictably.                                                                                                                                                   In 1840, when Jones’s “steady farming families” arrived on the brig Magnet, approximately 28 whales were landed but by 1841 that number had fallen to nine and in 1842 only four whales were captured. But Jones was tenacious and had other income streams - his station remained open for eleven years, finally closing in 1849.                              

The Magnet’s first port of call after leaving Sydney was Bluff – where another of Jones’s whaling stations was located. Having experienced the sights, sounds and smells of the Bluff shore based whaling operation, the settlers must have been somewhat forewarned about the conditions they could expect to encounter at Waikouaiti.

Huriawa Peninsula, Karitane, the location of the Waikouaiti Whaling Station

In 1844 a surveyor travelling south described Waikouaiti as being typical of other whaling stations, “a picture of the most perfect neglect of anything like order or neatness.” He describes the smell: (“like a thousand filthy lamps”) and the sights (“the whole beach was strewn with gigantic fragments of the bones of whales”).  The wildlife was also depicted: (prowling, “savage looking pigs and an abundance of poultry”) as were the inhabitants (“dirty, half-dressed Native women with a proportionate number of half-cast children”). Unsurprisingly, Johnny Jones and his ‘steady farming families’ established their agricultural settlement at the opposite end of Waikouaiti bay.  The settlements resident missionary however, chose to live adjacent to the whaling station, its proximity allowing him to better attend to “the spiritual welfare of the aboriginal inhabitants” and to witness the distressing consequences of the whalers excessive drinking.      

                                                                                        

Whaling was a seasonal activity carried out during winter months, and as few whalers were disciplined enough to save their winter wages,  during warmer weather they were obliged to earn a living by fishing, farming or by any other means possible. When whale numbers and winter wages diminished, men who were highly skilled or adventurous signed onto American whaling ships and left New Zealand, while those who chose not to abandon their families stayed and took up alternative trades. Businesses that had provisioned foreign whaling vessels suffered. In 1851 an article in the Otago Witness rather pointlessly urged the Honolulu based newspaper the ‘Friend’ to recommend the port of Otago as a whaling destination, but the whaling ships had gone and never returned. The industry had irrevocably collapsed, but the remains of hundreds of dead whales that were the remnants of the trade remained evident for years.                                                                                                             

During the 1860’s gold rush, Waikouaiti was an important stopover point for prospectors.  In 1862 a special correspondent for the Otago Daily Times found ample evidence that Waikouaiti had originally been a whaling station.  On his arrival he was ferried ashore in whaleboats “owned and worked by a party of Maoris” and saw huge bones “strewn on the shore with here and there a portion of the spine or backbone of the whale of the thickness of the nave of a cartwheel.”                                                                                                                                

However, even discarded whale bones were considered to have some aesthetic or economic use.  Fyffe house, the oldest remaining dwelling in Kaikoura has foundations made from whale vertebrae and whalebones were even occasionally fashioned into furniture.                                      The bones littering Waikouaiti beach were carried off and used as garden ornaments (rib bone arches were popular), while others were collected (ground up?) and made into farm manure. In 1901 a correspondent to the Otago Witness wrote an ‘amusing account’ of the collection of whale bones on Waikouaiti beach.   It begins: “a man came down to the beach for a load of bones.” Having loaded his cart, he encounters a Maori who glances into the cart and notices that “there were more bones than belonged to whales.” Erosion had exposed ancient human remains that had been loaded onto the cart and mingled with the whale bones.  An argument ensued, but eventually the bones were sorted and the men parted company - each carrying bones intended for a different purpose.                                                                                                                                

Early in the 1870’s whales were once again sighted and attempts were made to revive the old industry.  Local Maori formed a cooperative and the Waikouaiti Whale Fishery Company was established.   Old whale boats were pressed into service and the company met with some initial success; in 1871 two whales were landed and numerous more were sighted – “the coast in places has been black with the monsters” (an exaggeration by the Otago Daily Times, July 1872).  Two new whale boats were commissioned and five or six whales were landed however the following season was disastrous.  In 1874 the whaling crews (having just returned from their seasonal work as shearers) landed a single seven ‘tun’ whale.  Its estimated value of £300 was reportedly “just sufficient to clear the crews expenses for tucker during the season.  The Whale Fishery Company’s shears and try pots rusted on the Karitane peninsula until the early 1900’s. Inoperable whaling boats moldered under a boatshed at Karitane until a single boat ‘Maori Girl’ was rescued and restored in the 1930’s.  It can be seen today in the Otago Settler’s Museum.                                                                                                                                                                                                                In the years that followed, whales were occasionally sighted but the equipment and expertise needed to capture, kill and process them had been lost.  In 1904 two fishermen named Challis and Clifford discovered the carcass of a right whale floating off the Waikouaiti coast.  After fastening it with ropes they set off towing the carcass to the nearest suitable harbour but soon discovered that “the little ten horsepower engine could hardly shift the great inert mass” It took them twelve hours to reach Moeraki- a distance of ten miles.  By 1904 whales (even dead ones) had become a tremendous curiosity.  Even though the animal’s death had not been recent (its smell was described as hardly resembling the “spices of Araby”) crowds of sightseers thronged the beach “wondering at its vast bulk and mighty flukes and speculating as to its probable value.” A few adventurous souls even climbed aboard and wandered around on top of the carcass.  Challis and Clifford were reportedly paid £20 for their catch which had to be carted away to a freezing works for processing.                                                                                                                                                  

In 1931 New Zealand became a signatory to an international convention designed to protect various whale species.  Prime Minister Forbes announced penalties and explained that the bill was an attempt to prevent wholesale slaughter and extinction.  He went on to add that although the extinction of the right whales was a thing to be deplored it would be difficult for New Zealand to regulate the taking of whales in the Antarctic and that it was yet to be determined whether the legislation would prove to be effective.   

How ‘right’ he was.

The Need for Speed

In October 1911, fifty or so members of the Otago Motor Cycle Club conducted a ‘reliability trial’ on a trip from Dunedin to Timaru.  On their arrival at the halfway point in Oamaru one participant described the journey as “a greater test of the man than of the bike.” The Oamaru Mail noted that “the speaker’s appearance eloquently supported his words”.  The weather was reportedly good, so on this occasion the motorcyclist may have been coated with dust rather than with mud. 

A reliability trial was not a race - riders were expected to maintain a steady speed of twenty miles per hour.  Points were deducted for every occasion on which they were ‘forced to make use of their tools.” Punctures and breakdowns were accepted as inevitable consequences of any lengthy journey over very poor roads; to win a reliability trial in 1912, a man simply needed to ride the sturdiest, most mechanically reliable machine.

         A group of motorcyclists about to embark on a reliability trial, Marton, 1912                                                               

In addition to reliability trials, motorcyclists also conducted hill climbs and petrol consumption tests.  Road races however were uncommon – Otago roads were gravelled and pitted with potholes, bogs and ruts.  In an era when motoring on four wheels was considered to be adventurous, motoring on two wheels was believed to be courageous.  Transportation by Cobb and Co. coach could still be had, for the most part those who wished to travel rapidly, comfortably and safely took the train.                                                                                                                                                   In 1912 a new club – the Otago Motor Association was formed.  With a shared desire “to see motoring moving ahead with the times” the newly formed Association was open to any gentleman who owned a motor powered vehicle.  The club’s executive briefly considered opening membership to individuals who owned motor powered boats however there were certainly no boats present on the club’s opening  ‘run’ to Evansdale Glen.  A picnic was held, happy speeches were made but “unfortunately rain fell on the home journey and a strong headwind somewhat marred the pleasure of those who had attended.”                                                                                                                                                                      

Representing “practically all the motorists in Otago” the Otago Motor Association quickly became a powerful lobby group.  Within weeks the Association petitioned the Taieri County Council to open the Brighton road, which had been closed to motor traffic until such time as “people and horses could become used to automobiles.”  The association argued that “motoring had come to stay” and that if reasonable care was exercised there should be no risk to people or vehicles.  In reply, the council asserted that certain sections of the road were dangerous and not suitable for motor traffic.  It suggested that if motorists wished to travel to Brighton they should contribute towards the cost of the road’s repair.  This situation became increasingly common.  A generous donation by the Motoring Association towards the cost of road upkeep and improvements usually settled the matter.                                                                                                     

Give a competitive young man an expensive motor vehicle and he will quite likely acquire a ‘need for speed.’  Many of the Motor Association’s members wished to test their vehicles capabilities and until such time as the Association could persuade local councils to provide suitable roadways, races were held on the only relatively lengthy, flat surfaces that were available – local beaches.   

In 1912, ten competitors raced on Waikouaiti beach in an attempt to better the standing flying mile record of 65 seconds.  All participants raced in a southerly direction with a moderate breeze, a suitable tide and beach conditions that were described as “splendid.” Reaching a creditable speed of 60 mph, F. Curline (riding a 2 ½ horse power Singer) took out the prize for the under 350cc class, while in the division for cycles powered up to 500cc F. Thomas (on his 3 ½ horse power King Dick) reached the staggering speed of nearly seventy mph.

The Waikouaiti County Council almost certainly didn’t welcome beach racing – but may have been powerless to stop it.  As early as 1907 the Council had taken steps “to abate the nuisance of reckless and furious driving, which is considerably more dangerous to residents that to drivers.”  They enacted a bylaw that restricted speed to six miles per hour in places that were considered to be dangerous.  These ‘dangerous places’ were identified by the presence of a red ‘danger disc.’ The responsibility of identifying dangers and placing discs fell to members of the Otago Motor Association – unsurprisingly, no discs were placed on beaches.                                                                                                  

In 1912 motor vehicles were no longer an unfamiliar sight and laws had been enacted to encourage safe driving; nevertheless the Waikouaiti Council attempted to restrict motorists’ activities – it prohibited motor cars from using the Port Chalmers to Blueskin road. The road closure was deemed unlawful and the road reopened however that did not mean that this road (like most others) was suited for vehicular access.                                                           When the Waikouaiti Council would not (or could not) take action to repair the Mt Cargill road, members of the Motor Association took matters into their own hands. A working bee “for the purpose of filling in some of the pot-holes on the main north road” was organised.  Their efforts were not well received.  A Councillor described the event as “children playing with toy spades” and made references to an elaborate luncheon that was held at the hilltop - implying that more time was spent enjoying the view than wielding a shovel.                                                                                                                                                    Eventually the opinions of the Motor Association were vindicated.  An independent report described the Main North Road as being one of Otago’s worst – enormous sums were required for repair and maintenance.  The cash strapped Waikouaiti Council attributed road damage to motorists “lust for speed” but refused to take responsibility for prosecuting these “scorchers.”  Councils argued that they could not “pay men to be in wait on the roads and trap motorists.”   It was hoped that speed limits might constrain road damage while large fines for dangerous driving were arbitrarily applied in order to deter speedsters.  There was no suggestion that limiting speed might protect motorists as well as road surfaces. 

Main Street Waikouaiti “bumps projecting four or five inches above the road level.”

                                                                          

Enthusiasm for beach racing was dimmed only by the onset of the First World War. Enjoyable competition was considered to be inappropriate during war time and so the Otago Motor Club Committee rather cleverly combined diversion with duty.  Members’ cars were used to transport wounded soldiers and in 1916 a monster club day was held on Warrington beach with the purpose of giving “wounded soldiers a run.” Entrance money of 4£ 8S was gathered and donated a “patriotic fund” - the ANZAC club.  The outing was greatly appreciated, the wounded soldiers reporting that “it was the most enjoyable day they had had since landing in New Zealand.” Additional fundraising amassed hundreds of pounds towards the purchase of cycles and ambulances for the expeditionary forces (motor powered of course).                                                                                                                                                       Organised beach racing continued and became a popular spectator event.  In March 1926 an estimated two thousand people attended a race meeting that was held on Waikouaiti beach.  A young Waikouaiti resident named Bertie Earley was very likely present.  In October 1927 twenty one year old Bertie and two friends road to Waikouaiti beach in order to ‘try their cycles” in preparation for a race.  An experienced rider, Bertie accelerated away from his companions reaching a speed of 40mph while still in second gear.  His friends were able to give a full report of the accident to the coroner.  Bertie’s machine developed a wheel ‘wobble,’ the front tyre was torn off and the cycle somersaulted.  Bertie was thrown clear but landed on his head two or three yards away.  Despite being tended to by a local doctor Bertie died of a fractured skull and dislocated spine.  The coroner, Mr H. W Bundle returned a verdict of accidental death and commented that “if anyone indulges in racing at high speed, there is always an element of danger.” 

A helmet might not have saved him; Bertie’s death was attributed to a tyre defect and quickly forgotten, while beach racing continued.  Race surfaces have changed but ideas haven’t; nearly ninety years later, young men still associate excessive speed with danger rather than with death.

A House named Waikouaiti

Number 95, The Terrace, Hurstville, Sydney is a narrow two storied Victorian terrace house.  Built in 1885, the six room house is heritage listed, being the oldest building in the suburb.  Now converted into classrooms as part of the adjoining School, the old house was originally built as a ‘model home’ by a respectable gentleman accountant.                              

Charles Robert Creed named the house ‘Waikouaiti’ in reference to his family’s history and it is strangely fitting that the building has been restored by the Church - its builder was no stranger to religious observances; Charles Creed was the only child of missionary parents and spent most of the first ten years of his life at his father’s mission station in Waikouaiti.                                                           Charles’ father (also named Charles) had been sent to Waikouaiti to relieve the Reverend Watkin – a man whose health had been broken by the herculean task of converting the native population to Christianity. The Reverend Watkin greeted his successor, with a handshake and the memorable phrase “Missionary Creed, Welcome to Purgatory.”   Perhaps no joke had been intended - both men had been sent to this remote mission outpost after having behaved scandalously elsewhere.  The Reverend Watkin (a self-confessed “miserable sinner”) had considered his posting to the ‘barren rock’ of Waikouaiti to be an appropriate punishment.  After creating a scandal by acting ‘improperly’ with a native woman at a Mission in Tonga in 1838 he had been suspended and sent back to Sydney for rehabilitation. His mission to Waikouaiti had been an attempt at redemption.                                                                                                                                                           

Creed’s exile to Waikouaiti had been slightly more complicated.  The oil painting ‘Arrival of the Missionaries’ by George Baxter depicts the Creed family disembarking from the missionary ship ‘The Triton’ in Taranaki in 1841.  The painting was a fine piece of Methodist missionary propaganda, designed to convince prospective missionaries that they could expect a rapturous welcomed from the native population.   The reality must have been somewhat different.

Charles Creed found himself completely alone in a remote and neglected outpost.  He and his wife Eliza were forced to inhabit a flea infested hut without doors, windows or a floor.  Soon after arriving, Eliza gave birth to a baby boy that they named Charles Robert; the child lived for only two weeks.  Two years later a second son was born, Charles Robert (the second) was still a baby when the family were forced to leave Taranaki under a cloud of scandal and amid threats of violence.                                                                                       Eliza Creed had been the first European woman to set foot in Taranaki; however her isolation was brief. New Zealand Company immigrant ships soon arrived and hundreds of disgruntled immigrants disembarked. The Taranaki settlers were dissatisfied with their temporary accommodation and as supplies dwindled, they were soon both hungry and cold.  Land that had been promised (and in some cases purchased) in England had never been acquired and as the settlers began to spread out taking possession of Maori land, disputes arose.  Having no legal authority, the Reverend Creed was powerless to intervene, he preached patience.  Locals responded by threatening to burn his mission house to the ground. 

Amid this climate of conflict and hostility, the Reverend Creed’s unwise affair with a young Maori servant girl was revealed.  A letter that he had written to her surfaced, rumours circulated and the Reverend Creed was accused of adultery.  He was ordered to leave Taranaki and sent to Waikouaiti where he was ‘welcomed to purgatory.’ Creed’s  travelling companion the Reverend Wohlers described this cautionary greeting and recorded his first impressions of the settlement. “The landscape is beautiful.  It consists of hills and mountains of moderate size with valleys and little flats, intersected by small streams.”                             Eliza too may have been pleasantly surprised by their new posting; the mission house was new, warm and weather tight. The tiny, quaint parsonage had four rooms and an attic and stood on a terrace with a magnificent view of distant Matanaka – the site of patron Johnny Jones’ home.  In addition to pleasant accommodation, the Creed’s also had polite company; in 1844 at least six other European families were resident there as well as a dozen or so single men.  The Reverend Watkin had worked hard, local Maori were civil and peaceable and many had embraced the tenets of Christianity – refusing to work on the Sabbath, much to Johnny Jones’ disgust.                                                                                                           The Creed family spent nine years in Waikouaiti, they were well respected, but like his predecessor, Charles Creed was eventually worn down by the enormity of his task – tending to a parish that extended from Foveaux Straight to Kaikoura.  In 1853 with his ‘vitality exhausted’ the Reverend Creed was transferred to a position in Wellington and not long after moved his family to Glebe in New South Wales.                                                                                                   

What became of Charles Creed Junior, the man who built ‘Waikouaiti?’ Unlike Reverend Watkin’s sons, Charles did not enter the ministry.  His occupation is recorded in newspapers accounts as ‘Clerk’ or ‘Accountant.’ Public documents record little else of his life with the exception of the scandal that surrounded his unfortunate first and his bigamous second marriage.                 On September 1^st, 1869 Charles Junior married a woman named Marian Fynney Jarvis.  The ceremony was held in the bride’s parents’ home in the town of Forbes, New South Wales.  His father, the Reverend Charles Creed officiated.  Marian left him almost immediately – for another man (he claimed), - or to care for her sick mother (she claimed).  They were never reconciled, nor were they divorced.                                                               Charles subsequently travelled to Fiji, where in 1878 he married a woman named Elizabeth Buckley.  Charles and Elizabeth returned to Sydney soon after, here two daughters were born and Charles obtained a position as a clerk in a ‘drapery establishment.’ In January 1881, Charles Junior “a highly respectable looking man” was arrested at his place of employment and charged with bigamy.  The evidence presented at his trial was incontrovertible, documentary proof of two marriages was produced and both wives were forced to testify.  Charges of bigamy, adultery and desertion were proven and a divorce was granted.  Within weeks of the divorce being finalised, Charles (very privately) remarried his ‘wife’ Elizabeth, thereby legitimising their relationship and their two daughters.  Elizabeth must have forgiven him; four years after the conclusion of the trial he built her a beautiful ‘model home’ and eventually ‘Waikouaiti’ housed his family of seven children.  Perhaps memories of a happy childhood spent fishing and playing on Waikouaiti beach inspired its name, possibly its name was intended to be a mark of respect for his family’s missionary endeavours, however subsequent owners must have found ‘Waikouaiti’ to be unpronounceable and obscure.  The house was soon renamed ‘Ardo.’                                                                                                

Charles’ father the Reverend Creed never lived to learn of his son’s scandal or see his fine new house.  He died in 1879 and is buried in Rookwood Cemetery, Sydney not far from the grave of his colleague the Reverend Watkin.  Would his Methodist sensibilities have been offended by his son’s casual bigamy? Or might he have shown Christian forgiveness knowing from experience that even the most devout and well-meaning of men are not always morally responsible?

Outrage on a Chinese

John Sizemore was almost certainly a troubled youth.  When he was eight years old his mother died of consumption, thereby gaining the dubious honour of becoming the first person to be buried in St. John’s Churchyard Waikouaiti.  Three years later when his father Richard died, John and his three sisters were left parentless but not without wider family support.  John’s father may have been an ex-convict and whaler with a fondness for Maori wives, but he was also well connected. His sister Sarah had married a streetwise Sydney Water-man who had done very well for himself.  John Sizemore’s uncle was Johnny Jones – arguably the wealthiest man in the province of Otago.                                             

The court report described “the boy named Sizemore” as having “mischievous propensities.” His actions certainly started the affray, but he was never called to account for them. On the 27^th of August 1867 another man stood in the dock of the Waikouaiti Resident Magistrate’s Court charged with assault.                                                                                                  

The small group of Chinamen had been eating their dinner near Anderson’s General Store at the northern end of the Main North Road, Hawksbury, when they were set upon by a group of boys led by seventeen year old John Sizemore.  Being pelted with mud and stones had “aroused the Tartar blood of the Mongolians” – the Chinamen gave chase, and John Sizemore was apprehended.   At this point an onlooker named John McClure intervened to prevent the boy from being “severely punished,” which (in the opinion of the Waikouaiti Herald) “would have served him right.”                                                                           
During the ensuing scuffle a Chinaman named Ah Chin was dealt a blow that “rendered him insensible.” With the aid of an interpreter Ah Chin alleged that McClure had struck him with a stick, his companions corroborated his story.  McClure claimed innocence alleging that the blow had been struck by one of the Chinamen.  
The principles of truth and justice were never going to prevail in this case. Local European witnesses, who had seen “more or less” of the affray, confirmed McClure’s version of the events and predictably, the case was dismissed.                                               

They were difficult times; the rush of miners to the province had dwindled as new goldfields were discovered in the West and Dunedin’s economy was suffering.  In 1865 it had been suggested that “painstaking, industrious and energetic” Chinese miners might be invited to travel from the depleted goldfields of Victoria in order to boost the province’s economy.  This proposal provoked hysterical outcries.  One correspondent to the Otago Daily Times countered the descriptors “painstaking, industrious and energetic” with the adjectives bestial, thieving animals. Various other contributors labelled the Chinese as immoral, diseased, cunning thieves.  Local Councillor J.G.S Grant petitioned administrators to “adopt stringent measures to save the Province from a threatened invasion of barbaric hordes of Tartars.” His efforts were futile; the Provincial Government had neither the means nor the desire to prevent Chinese immigration and in 1866, at the invitation of the Dunedin Chamber of Commerce, twelve Chinese miners arrived at Port Chalmers.  By the end of that year the Chinese population of Otago numbered twelve hundred.

A Cartoon published in the Dunedin Punch, September 23rd 1865, ridiculing the welcoming of the Chinese by members of the Dunedin Chamber of Commerce.

The Chinese immigrants suffered discrimination and intimidation.  Assaults were not condoned but neither were they discouraged.  Perpetrators went unpunished and until a correspondent of the Waikouaiti Herald wrote an account of an “outrage upon a Chinese” (published in the Evening Star), no official efforts were made to provide the Chinese Community with protection.                                                                                                     

The ‘outrage’ occurred a month before John Sizemore’s mischievous assault and involved an attack on a Chinaman in the township of Naseby.  The man, who had introduced himself as Ah Pak (meaning ‘uncle’ or ‘old man’) had earned a small sum of money on the goldfields and had travelled to Naseby with the intention of settling there and establishing a small garden (“an occupation to which the Celestials are peculiarly adapted” – noted the columnist).  Ah Pak was set upon by a gang of drunken men, who cut off his pigtail, “otherwise maltreated him” and then enclosed him in a large barrel which they rolled about the town.  Ah Pak, greatly distressed was left to wander around the town in the cold, having lost “the greater part of his clothing in the assault.” 
Thomas Sincock, Naseby's police Inspector ‘pursued inquiries’ but “found great difficulty in obtaining any information from the townspeople as to who were the persons principally concerned.” Ah Pak was escorted to the town lockup and allowed him to sleep there while summonses were obtained and subpoenas prepared; a court hearing was scheduled for the following Monday.  
Three days later, in the early hours of Sunday morning, Ah Pak arranged his blankets “so as to appear to be lying down” and fled.  Two men were sent (in opposite directions) in pursuit, but no trace of the Chinaman could be found; consequently the court case was dismissed. 

Perhaps hopelessly lost, Ah Pak wandered about the Maniototo plains until he encountered a sheep station, where someone mistakenly assumed that he was the front-runner of a much larger group of wandering Chinese.  A gun was discharged and a terrified Ah Pak fled.  Eventually he reached the Kyeburn Hotel, where the proprietor, Mr. John Malloch “tended to him as became a Samaritan” and ascertained that Ah Pak had friends in Hyde.  Ah Pak was given refreshments and directions to the township of Hyde but was soon found by a passing bank manager, wandering in completely the opposite direction.                          
A Constable Finnigan was sent to fetch Ah Pak and escort him back to Naseby.  Here he was interrogated by Inspector Sincock, who suspected that he had been bribed to leave town before his case could be brought to court. Pleading innocence, the directionally challenged Ah Pak was released and for his own safety was offered a police escort to his preferred destination.  Passing through the (now vanished) town of Hamiltons, Constable Finnigan and Ah Pak were surrounded by a group of a dozen or so European men and boys who “gathered to gaze at the first Chinese visitor to the township.” 
“Deranged by recollections of former brutal treatment,” Ah Pak made “several attempts to get away, uttering the most piercing shrieks and rather feminine-like cries so peculiar to his race.” 
Charged with ensuring the safety of a hysterically screaming man, Constable Finnigan quite wisely chose to return to Naseby where he reported to his superior that he was “afraid to let the man go, as he feared he was insane.” Inspector Sincock promptly charged Ah Pak with lunacy.  It was two weeks before a magistrate could be found to hear his case.                   

At his trial a local doctor maintained that the Chinaman would be “all right if he was sent down amongst his countrymen” Ah Pak was released and his passage to Dunedin was paid for by the Mount Ida Relief Committee.  In a rather self-serving letter to the Otago Witness Inspector Sincock justified his actions, reporting that the perpetrators of the original assault were “strangers passing through” and claiming that the matter had been “much exaggerated.  The Chinaman was a great liar, and I am strongly of the opinion that a good deal of his conduct was assumed, for purposes of his own."                                                    Soon after his arrival in Dunedin Ah Pak was confined to the Dunedin Lunatic Asylum.  Outraged letters were published condemning his ‘outrageous treatment’ and six months later James MacAndrew, Superintendent of Otago published a notice strictly enjoining the Police to keep a protective watch over the Chinese Population - unfortunately too late to prevent the outrage perpetrated upon the Chinese in Waikouaiti.                                                

An Elephant named Jenny Lind

In January 1868, for the sum of one shilling, visitors could view a menagerie that was temporarily housed inside Dunedin’s Polytechnic Hall.  Among the animals exhibited there was a female Asiatic elephant named Jenny Lind. Named after the famous Swedish Opera singer, Jenny the elephant had spent her entire life on display, firstly in America then in Australia.   When she arrived in Sydney in 1851 Jenny was the first elephant ever seen on the Australian continent and in 1868 when she disembarked from the brigantine ‘Swordfish’ in Port Chalmers Jenny became New Zealand’s first pachyderm immigrant.             Her exhibition can’t have been a success.   The March 16^th edition of the Otago Daily Times contained the following advertisement: 

 

Nine days later – a second advertisement appeared:

Jenny was sold, possibly at a knocked down price, to an owner who had probably never even seen an elephant before, let alone cared for one. Difficulties arose almost immediately. In 1868 there were limited options for transporting large, exotic animals – Railways were non-existent and roads were poorly maintained.  Jenny may have been obliged to pull her own waggon or at least disembark from it whenever rivers, bogs and ruts made the northern road impassable.                                                                        

Progress was made however and on the 21^st of April 1868, after travelling some considerable distance, Jenny and her keeper arrived at the Southern bank of the Waitaki River.  Here, the ferryman was unsurprisingly unwilling to allow an elephant to board his punt. The crossing was delayed and Jenny was turned loose.  The elephant keeper can be forgiven for not knowing that elephants are excellent swimmers, but can’t be forgiven for allowing his charge to forage on the river banks.  Fresh new foliage had emerged there after a previous season’s ‘burn off’ and among the sprouting vegetation was a fine crop of the native shrub Tutu – a plant that was easily identified and well known to be extremely poisonous.  Newly sprouted Tutu resembles asparagus fronds and Jenny must have found it palatable.  She browsed for around four hours on the riverbank, took a great drink of water from a nearby creek and then began to stagger.  Three hours later she fell and died  – becoming one of New Zealand’s more famous (and certainly the largest) victim of Tutu poisoning.                                                                                                                                   The plant had been the scourge of pastoralists ever since Cook’s first landing.  Cook released five goats, two ewes and a ram in Queen Charlotte sound in 1773 however his hopes of stocking New Zealand with livestock were soon dashed.  The sheep were promptly poisoned (probably by Tutu) and at least one of the goats was eaten by local Maori – thus preventing the earlier proliferation of one of New Zealand’s more harmful introduced species.    

      

Almost every part of the Coriaria plant is poisonous; livestock are attracted and poisoned by the foliage whereas humans are attracted by its shiny, sweet tasting black berries and are poisoned by its seeds.  The plant was well known to early Maori, who used the berry juice after cautiously straining out the seeds.  Following their example a few early European settlers used filtered and fermented ‘Toot’ juice to make wine but for the most part the plant was deliberately avoided.  Its victims were generally inexperienced or unaware, newspapers published ‘warnings to mothers’ when the berries ripened in November, because the majority of Tutu poisoning victims were children.                     

In comparison to the dozen or so recorded cases of human Tutu fatalities, stock losses were enormous. Tutu thrives in fertile coastal soils, - sought after locations for early settler farmers.  Animals that were in poor condition were especially susceptible to the toxin; hungry sheep and cattle that were offloaded from ships and allowed to forage died in their hundreds.  Stock losses of twenty five percent were common and some particularly unlucky run holders reported finding up to three quarters of their stock dead, poisoned, or ‘tooted.’

Human lives could be saved if vomiting was induced quickly, whereas poisoned cattle or sheep were bled in an effort to release the poison from circulation.  Sheep that survived were said to “lose their gregarious instinct,” becoming hermit animals that were slaughtered for ‘station mutton.’ No harm came to those who ate this meat – an effect that was noted by a Doctor Malcolm of the Otago Institute who carried out a series of investigations into the plant’s toxic properties in 1914.                  

Doctor Malcolm experimented on rabbits using the “painless method, sometimes employed with recalcitrant suffragettes” of feeding (poison in this case rather than food) through a stomach tube.  His choice of experimental subject was interesting, rabbits were known to be averse to eating Tutu, but Doctor Malcolm demonstrated that they were not immune to its toxic effects.  He determined the size of a fatal dose (between a half and a full pound of leaves), confirmed that the toxin passed into the bloodstream and discovered that transfusing poisoned blood produced different symptoms. Doctor Malcolm acknowledged that he “had expected to glean much more useful information” from his experiments.  An antidote had been hoped for, but the good Doctor was correct in presuming that there was not “much chance of getting a practical remedy” - none exists today.

Even in death Jenny Lind the elephant remained an object of curiosity.  Her skeleton was prepared by Doctor Hector, a member of the Wellington Philosophical Society and put on display in Wellington’s Colonial Museum.  While her remains may have taught a few generations of children a little about anatomy, her demise did not serve as a warning to circus owners.  In 1956, an elephant travelling with the Bullen Brothers circus died in remarkably similar circumstances – poisoned while foraging on the banks of the Mangawhero River.  Tutu’s second pachyderm victim was quickly and quietly interred in an anonymous grave, somewhere behind the railway houses at Ohakune Junction.

Remarkably, a third case soon followed.  In the nineteen sixties, two elephants were poisoned while being transported through the Tutu infested Buller gorge.  Their death was prevented by the quick thinking actions of a veterinarian named David Marshall who administered barbiturates and later reported (standing in?) spectacular waist high piles of elephant vomit. 

Pachyderm passing problematically prevented.