I Have Seen Three Varieties Of It,
Though I Am Not Sure Whether Two Of Them May Not Be The Same, Varied
Somewhat By Soil And Position.
The third grows only in high situations,
and is unknown upon the plains; it has leaves very minutely subdivided,
and looks like a fern, but the blossom and seed are nearly identical
with the other varieties.
The peculiar property of the plant is, that,
though highly nutritious both for sheep and cattle when eaten upon a
tolerably full stomach, it is very fatal upon an empty one. Sheep and
cattle eat it to any extent, and with perfect safety, when running loose
on their pasture, because they are then always pretty full; but take the
same sheep and yard them for some few hours, or drive them so that they
cannot feed, then turn them into tutu, and the result is that they are
immediately attacked with apoplectic symptoms, and die unless promptly
bled. Nor does bleeding by any means always save them. The worst of it
is, that when empty they are keenest after it, and nab it in spite of
one's most frantic appeals, both verbal and flagellatory. Some say that
tutu acts like clover, and blows out the stomach, so that death ensues.
The seed-stones, however, contained in the dark pulpy berry, are
poisonous to man, and superinduce apoplectic symptoms. The berry (about
the size of a small currant) is rather good, though (like all the New
Zealand berries) insipid, and is quite harmless if the stones are not
swallowed. Tutu grows chiefly on and in the neighbourhood of sandy
river-beds, but occurs more or less all over the settlement, and causes
considerable damage every year. Horses won't touch it.
As, then, my bullocks could not get tuted on being turned out empty, I
yarded them. The next day we made thirteen miles over the plains to the
Waikitty (written Waikirikiri) or Selwyn. Still the same monotonous
plains, the same interminable tussock, dotted with the same cabbage-
trees.
On the morrow, ten more monotonous miles to the banks of the Rakaia.
This river is one of the largest in the province, second only to the
Waitaki. It contains about as much water as the Rhone above Martigny,
perhaps even more, but it rather resembles an Italian than a Swiss
river. With due care, it is fordable in many places, though very rarely
so when occupying a single channel. It is, however, seldom found in one
stream, but flows, like the rest of these rivers, with alternate periods
of rapid and comparatively smooth water every few yards. The place to
look for a ford is just above a spit where the river forks into two or
more branches; there is generally here a bar of shingle with shallow
water, while immediately below, in each stream, there is a dangerous
rapid. A very little practice and knowledge of each river will enable a
man to detect a ford at a glance. These fords shift every fresh. In
the Waimakiriri or Rangitata, they occur every quarter of a mile or
less; in the Rakaia, you may go three or four miles for a good one.
During a fresh, the Rakaia is not fordable, at any rate, no one ought to
ford it; but the two first-named rivers may be crossed, with great care,
in pretty heavy freshes, without the water going higher than the knees
of the rider. It is always, however, an unpleasant task to cross a
river when full without a thorough previous acquaintance with it; then,
a glance at the colour and consistency of the water will give a good
idea whether the fresh is coming down, at its height, or falling. When
the ordinary volume of the stream is known, the height of the water can
be estimated at a spot never before seen with wonderful correctness.
The Rakaia sometimes comes down with a run - a wall of water two feet
high, rolling over and over, rushes down with irresistible force. I
know a gentleman who had been looking at some sheep upon an island in
the Rakaia, and, after finishing his survey, was riding leisurely to the
bank on which his house was situated. Suddenly, he saw the river coming
down upon him in the manner I have described, and not more than two or
three hundred yards off. By a forcible application of the spur, he was
enabled to reach terra firma, just in time to see the water sweeping
with an awful roar over the spot that he had been traversing not a
second previously. This is not frequent: a fresh generally takes four
or five hours to come down, and from two days to a week, ten days, or a
fortnight, to subside again.
If I were to speak of the rise of the Rakaia, or rather of the numerous
branches which form it; of their vast and wasteful beds; the glaciers
that they spring from, one of which comes down half-way across the
river-bed (thus tending to prove that the glaciers are descending, for
the river-bed is both ABOVE and BELOW the glacier); of the wonderful
gorge with its terraces rising shelf upon shelf, like fortifications,
many hundred feet above the river; the crystals found there, and the
wild pigs - I should weary the reader too much, and fill half a volume:
the bullocks must again claim our attention, and I unwillingly revert to
my subject.
On the night of our arrival at the Rakaia I did not yard the bullocks,
as they seemed inclined to stay quietly with some others that were about
the place; next morning they were gone. Were they up the river, or down
the river, across the river, or gone back? You are at Cambridge, and
have lost your bullocks. They were bred in Yorkshire, but have been
used a good deal in the neighbourhood of Dorchester, and may have
consequently made in either direction; they may, however, have worked
down the Cam, and be in full feed for Lynn; or, again, they may be
snugly stowed away in a gully half-way between the Fitzwilliam Museum
and Trumpington.
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