Page:Through South Westland.djvu/108

West—sheets and buckets of water; and we plunged into dripping bush, where water poured in all directions in streams and rivulets. The trees were literally clothed with ferns; filmy ferns crept along the branches, and kidney-ferns draped the trunks with their exquisite green lobes. Mosses, green and lovely, covered everything, and for a little way we went among the living green: but then came the abomination of desolation. . . . we stood on the raw edge of a scar that tore the hill-side open. Grey rocks and stones were hurled in confusion; along the edge of the gaping wound tottering trees still clung, or pitched headlong down, mixed with tree-ferns and ratas—a world of loveliness lay destroyed at our feet. On all hands was evidence of sluicing operations. Up a steep hill opposite, a line of felled trees showed where the great pipes were laid which brought that tremendous force of water to the hose, and the din in the air from the discharging water was terrific. Down below we watched men in top-boots and oilskins at work. They had just finished sluicing, and were moving the dirt along a wooden channel at the bottom. It was something of a scramble to get down, mud and stones and clay came away at every step, and water ran down in one’s tracks. Arrived at the bottom, the foreman came forward and the men gathered round, all anxious we should see everything. Some had coarse rakes, and one an old shovel, and they showed me the movable blocks, fitting