I was at the rendezvous at nine the following morning, as was also the policeman and the Blackball Band. We got into a coach to proceed to Ngahere. The band got into another, and to the strains of martial music, and accompanied by practically every member of the Union, I was escorted to the railway station, en route to gaol.
The weather was cold, and when my escort handed me over to the sergeant at the Greymouth police station I was ushered into what was evidently the inspector’s office, for a comfortable leather chair and a roaring fire greeted me. I was informed that i would have to remain there until the evening train left for Hokitika, at which place I was due to spend my fourteen days.
The sergeant, after arguing with me on the wisdom of paying my fine, said: “Oh, well, I’ll leave you, and if you want anything just press that button” (indicating a button on the wall). Later, the coal scuttle becoming empty, I pressed the button, and a stalwart policeman entered the room. I pointed to the scuttle, and with a grin he picked it up, and brought it back filled with coal.
In a few hours’ time, about four at the outside, the sergeant came into the room, and excitedly informed me that I was to “get out of it.” My fine had been paid. I denied the right of anyone to pay fines on my behalf. But the law was obdurate. The fine had been paid, and the police were satisfied. Who paid the fine they did not know, but paid it was, so I was summarily pushed forth into the street.
Many years afterwards I was informed by the late Mr. M. Hannan, solcitor, of Greymouth, that, acting under instructions from the Blackball Coal Co., he had paid the fine.
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