was given in charge to “a young gentleman of colonial turn of mind” to take it over the hill to Lyttelton, where the Sewells were living. “He was specially instructed to leave the animal in Port, and he brought it in duly enough; but having done so, he felt himself at liberty to take it back with him to Christchurch on his own account. They do these things in a colony. It is part of the pleasant free and easy way of going on.” The mule was ultimately delivered, but when wanted for use a few days afterwards “it had vanished again! It had been seen among the hills over in Mr. Cookson’s valley—was likely to be gone to Riccarton, might be off to Motunau—in short, was anywhere or nowhere.” The offer of a reward caused the mule to be brought back, but only to escape again next morning, when it was seen going full gallop over the hill. “This sort of thing also is colonial habit—animals always stray away. Mr. Allen, the clergymen, declares that every third person he met asked him whether he had seen that bullock, or that mare, or that cow, or some erratic beast—whence he included as an interesting statistical fact that one-third of the time of the colony was consumed in looking after stray cattle. However, another 10/- reward brought the animal back on Tuesday evening.”
This chapter has been introduced not only in the endeavour to give some idea of Canterbury life in the fifties, but as a recognition of the sterling character of many of those who lent a hand to build up old Canterbury.
There is no doubt that the “mana” of the settlement continued to survive long after its first foundation, and attracted many men of unusual character and attainments.
One of them was Mr. John Cracroft Wilson, of whom, in April, 1854, Mr. Sewell wrote: “In the evening a new arrival, the ‘Ackbar,’ from Sydney, bringing Mr. Wilson, an Indian with a retinue of coolies, and intended
