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well invariably recovered their cattle, and that quickly, but those who were overbearing or unkind, or above all, unjust, in their dealings with us had the greatest difficulty. In one or two instances, the cattle were ultimately recovered miles further away than they ought to have been. One old lady (who never saw us passing her house without calling out to us to come in and get a slice of bread and jam) was our special favourite. Every morning we found her cows, and drove them into the yard for her, and enjoyed the privilege of doing so, as an earnest of our appreciation of her goodness to us.
About the middle of the ’fifties there arrived in Pigeon Bay a whaler named Thomas White, the same man to whom I have referred as having given us youngsters such a fright when he suddenly appeared on horseback. It is no exaggeration to say that we worshipped Tom White. We quoted him as an ultimate authority on everything, and he found in us apt pupils in bush lore, the driving of bullocks, and the handling of cattle, etc. As he had been boat-steerer in his whaling days we were most impressed, amidst all his accomplishments, with his skill in handling a craft. He took us out
