TERRIBLE CALAMITY.
BOY LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS.
THREE MEN KILLED ATTEMPTING TO RESCUE HIM.
[FROM OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT.] NASEBY, August 3. Two boys living at the Upper Kyeburn, named James and Thomas Meikle, aged eighteen and fourteen respectively, were rabbiting on J. and J. McReady's run, on the Maerewhenua side of the Kakanui Ranges, on Thursday last, when the younger boy became exhausted. His brother's story is to the effect that, being unable to assist him, he travelled some miles to his hut, obtained a blanket, and returned to the little fellow, wrapped him up, and stayed with him till five o'clock on Friday morning. Then, seeing the boy apparently dying, he again left him, and, reaching home, informed his father, who set out with him to the boy's assistance. The ascent of the mountain proved too much for the father, who entirely collapsed, and was severely frost-bitten, but managed to return to the nearest house, but not till Saturday morning, when the neighbors were informed of the occurrence, and
A SEARCH PARTY OF NINE was immediately organised for the purpose of rescuing the boy, with young Meikle as a guide. He led them up Nobbler Peak, and then informed them that he was sure he had guided them wrongly, as his brother was at the back of the opposite spur. The party, with the object of crossing to this spur, proceeded round a steep sidling, covered with a deep coating of snow, between Nobbler Peak and Mount Alexandra, Young Meikle, Alphonso Beer, and Robert Blanchard being slightly in advance of the others, when the snow gave from under them, and they immediately disappeared from the view of their companions, being
COMPLETELY ENVELOPED IN THE AVALANCHE, which slipped fully 400 yards down the side of the mountain into the gully, and then precipitated with awful velocity over a perpendicular cliff of 50ft in depth. The remainder of the party, being unable to find any trace of their unfortunate comrades, and being utterly unable to do anything towards their assistance, returned to Kyeburn and despatched a messenger to Naseby with the object of procuring help. Early on Sunday morning a large party left Naseby with ropes, shovels, etc., and were augmented by a large party from Kyeburn, there being over 200 men altogether. Considerable difficulty was experienced in reaching the scene of the fatality, the ascent of the mountains being exceedingly trying, but the difficulties were at length surmounted, and the operations of digging away the snow quickly commenced. Very soon
BLANCHARD'S BODY WAS DISCOVERED about 100 yards from the foot of the cliff, embedded in six or seven feet of snow. One side of his head was frightfully bruised, a portion of his legs also being broken. About a chain further up the gully
BEER'S BODY WAS FOUND, his head also being badly bruised. Some twenty or thirty yards further up
MEIKLE'S BODY WAS DISCOVERED without any marks of injury, and it is thought he must have lived some time after reaching the bottom. The other two were evidently killed outright by the fall. The three bodies were with the greatest difficulty conveyed down the mountain, and afterwards removed to Monk's Pass Hotel, where an inquest will be held to-morrow. Blanchard was twenty-two years of age, and Beer twenty, and both young man were greatly respected throughout the district. The two boys Meikle were the main support of the family. The sad affair has caused tremendous excitement, it being the
MOST AWFUL in its nature that has ever appeared in this district. A party has been organised to search for the little boy Meikle to-day, but it is anticipated they will not be successful for some time, as the only person who knew of his exact whereabouts was his brother, who is now dead. One of his dogs is, however, supposed to be still with him. Of course there is not the slightest hope of finding the boy alive. -Evening Star, 3/8/1891.
LOCAL AND GENERAL
A movement is on foot to erect a suitable monument in the Kyeburn Cemetery in commemoration of the victims of the recent casualty at Kyeburn. Messrs. A. P. Beer, Robert Blanchard and James Meikle met their death in their heroic endeavours to save the life of Thomas Meikle, and it is only right that their noble conduct should be thus recognised. Subscription lists have been distributed throughout the district, and should be returned to Mr. W. Guffie, County Chairman, who, at the request of a number of subscribers, has consented to act as treasurer. The names of subscribers will be published in The Chronicle. -Mt Ida Chronicle, 8/8/1891.
The Mount Ida Chronicle reports that a movement is on foot to erect a suitable monument in the Kyeburn cemetery in commemoration of the victims of the recent casualty at Kyeburn. Our contemporary states with reference to the avalanche which caused the deaths of A. P. Beer, Robert Blanchard, and James Meikle, that it descended without the slightest warning, and the remaining members of the party were horrified to see their three companions who were leading swept out of sight in a moment. Two others of the party — Messrs T. Blanchard and C. Archer — very narrowly escaped a similar fate, being drawn back just in time by Mr H. Smith. Nearly the whole side of the mountain appeared to move, and the avalanche swept with terrible velocity into the gully, a distance of about 400 yds, then along the bed of the creek, over two waterfalls, the latter being a precipitous cliff of about 50ft in depth, and finally became wedged in between the two banks of the creek. The rest of the party were almost stupefied for a time, but quickly recovering themselves, they hastily made their way down to the creek but failed to find any trace whatever of their ill-fated comrades, with the exception of a cap belonging to James Meikle. Regarding the recovery of the body of Thomas Meikle, our contemporary reports that the search party when they were about a mile and a-half on the Tokorahi side of the range espied a number of dogs down a gully, and, hurrying down, they found the body of the poor little fellow, partly protected by a rock. He was lying on his back with his cap over his face, and had evidently passed away in his sleep. Three or four dogs were with him, while one faithful animal lay right across him, and was only removed with difficulty. The other dogs at once scampered away, following the party at a distance of about half a mile, but this one remained close to the body of his young master, and acted in such a way as to make it apparent that he fully understood what had happened. -Otago Daily Times, 10/8/1891.
THE KYEBURN DISASTER.
On Sabbath evening last, at the Presbyterian Church, Naseby, the Rev. J. McCosh Smith spoke with reference to the recent sad calamity at Kyeburn, taking as his text the 13th verse of the 25th chapter of Matthew: "Watch, therefore; for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh." After narrating the connected with the sad event, he concluded, with the following impressive remarks:
"I shall now call attention to what I call the crucial or trying positions. The first crucial position is that of the young men face to face with the disaster — two Archers, two Blanchards, John Parker and H. Smith. All these were within a very little of being swept away in the same avalanche. Think of their position, especially that of the brothers of Robert Blanchard. No warning, nothing to prepare their minds for what had happened! In a moment their comrades swept away, swept down to death! The shock must have been tremendous. These young men can never forget what they then saw: their hearts can never lose the impression then made. To all these the words of Christ must come with solemn power: "Watch, therefore; for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh." What a sight! What a moment in their lives! Never before, never again are they likely to be in such another impressive situation. The world can never efface the impression then made; time cannot destroy it. Surely, indelibly, it is written in their hearts to bless, to deepen life, to introduce them to something more solemn than they have yet known. Think especially of the brothers Blanchard, their situation, the agony of their hearts, the awful moment in their lives! Therefore, be ye also ready; for at such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.
The second crucial situation is that of the father of Alphonso Beer. He was in the search party too, only about a mile behind the foremost band. He never reached the scene of the disaster. The news was carried down to him, and what bewildering news too! His son and two others lost, swept down to death amid snow and ice, precipice and waterfall! What crushing news! He who had watched over his son from infancy up, he who had been so proud of his boy all the years he had had him, he now having the news brought him as he stood there that his son had been killed! What a crushing, what an overwhelming power of grief entering into his heart! A torrent of anguish, and one that could in no way be turned aside. It was true; it could not be otherwise. No hope, not a shadow of hope. What heaviness of heart! No wonder he turned himself about and walked home more like one dead than alive.
Then comes the third crucial situation — that of the three mothers and two of the fathers at home. How can the news he told there? How can the darkness be best admitted into these homes — homes already dark, especially that of the lost boy Tommy Meikle? How can the news be told to the sisters and brothers on the Sabbath, at home and abroad? You cannot conceive the state. I was there when the last ray of hope vanished. No tongue can tell the effect; words cannot convey any idea of the anguish in these homes. Tears were nothing; hearts so full that no tears could flow. Silent weeping, silent enduring, or outbursts of agony that no heart of man could hear and be unmoved. The most callous, the most hardened, the most indifferent could not enter and see and hear and go away without a deep pain at their hearts. But not there alone was there grief and lamentation. As the news spread the grief rose up in all hearts. The whole district felt the solemnity of death lying upon it. There was not a man; not a woman, not a boy or a girl that would not have run to the rescue. There was not a heart that did not share the burden. There was sympathy for those who had lost. There was more: all had lost as well as fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers, all had lost with the parents who had lost. The whole district felt itself poorer by the calamity. What, then, is the voice here? What does this calamity say? Does it not take up the language the Saviour used long ago and say: "Watch, therefore; for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come"? Have we not here a new edition of the old words, and with tremendous emphasis too? Think of Tommy busy rabbiting all Thursday without a thought of danger. Think of him toiling on past the sunny noon into the afternoon, and not a thought of death in all his mind. Think of him having wandered away in his work, and now, when the sun begins to set and the stars to rise, he cannot or is unable to find his way home. Think of him at first becoming a little uneasy, but yet brave and courageous. Think of him as the sense of danger grows in his mind, at first small and next larger. Think of him as he comes to the conclusion that he cannot now get home without help. Think of him in the snow, cold and wet, yet brave and determined to do his utmost, firing the tussocks to attract the attention of his elder brother. Think of the joyous meeting when his brother finds him — the relief, the hope his presence would give Tommy. But they now both conclude that they cannot get home, and lie down, wrapping themselves in the blanket in a vain endeavour to cheat the frost and the snow out of their victims. Then in the morning, when the night is coldest, the elder boy finds that his young brother is dying, stiff and cold, gasping for breath, and he can do nothing for him. At last he can stand it no longer, and he rushes away again to try for more help. Tommy, noticing this, makes a last effort, and, rising to follow, falls in a pool of water. The elder boy returns again, and lays him down in the most sheltered spot he can find, and hastens away. He cannot stay: he must go. And, really, what more could the elder brother do in the circumstances? He cannot carry him, he cannot warm him. He can do nothing more than stand by and see the final end. He had sought him in the darkness of night in the snowy mountain, he had trudged over rock, past cliff, and through snowy wreath; wearied as he must have been by his exertions the previous day, he could not stay at home — he must be out and away, and at last, after doing in the darkness what twenty men were employed about in the broad daylight on the Monday thereafter, he found him after prodigious efforts. He wrapped him in a blanket, and took him to his bosom, and yet he could not save him, yet he could not ward off death, and yet Tommy was gasping for breath and dying. Does all this not say to us: "Watch, therefore"?
Think again of the three young men, the same elder brother one of them. Think of their efforts to find Tommy dead or alive. Think of them as they step into the snow that is to clasp them in its cold embrace and carry them down to death. They are alive on this side of time the one minute; the next minute they are dead and in eternity! They suffer no lingering illness. They have not a second in which to think, not a moment in which to say farewell. They reach eternity with one bound. What does this not say? Does it not say: "Watch, therefore"? I make no attempt to penetrate the secrets of the lives of these. I pass no judgment upon their state before God — I do not think that this is within my power, as it is not within my right. But certainly it is true that where these were best known they were most loved. It is true that our last sight of them, risking their lives to render help or to save life, is as good a sight as we could wish to have of any man at death. Their parents, their sisters and brothers could not have their last look of them more gratifying than it is. They may look at their lives all along as they have seen them: nothing in their lives became them like their leaving it. Yet their departure was so startling sudden, so overwhelming in its immediacy that the language to us who are left behind must be "Watch, therefore."
The voice is one, the voice is loud that all may hear. The voice enters every ear, and forces its way into the conscience of the old, of the middle-aged, but especially it is a voice to the young men of the neighhourhood. It is but as yesterday that two young men lost their lives as suddenly. To-day, you may say, four young men have met a similar end. Is it possible that any young men are so careless as to consider themselves above the need of a religion or of a Saviour? Is it possible that any young men have been saying: ''We are young; we can never die; we need no religion"? Is it possible that any young people have been living under such an influence? Does this catastrophe not dispel the delusion? Does this event not tear the veil aside that has been hiding the terrible reality of life and death from these? Is God a name and nothing more? Is Christ the Saviour that any do not need? Can any afford to trample on sacred things? Can any afford to give themselves up to a life of ungodliness? Are there not clouds of dust about, clouds of small talk that act as a net thrown over the unwary? Are mists and fogs not lying low, obscuring the spiritual vision and tempting the young to their ruin? Can there be any such thing? Gossip — ungodly gossip often, and all talk — warping the judgments, entangling the wills of men! To these I would say, in the language of Scripture: "Take heed lest there be any one that maketh spoil of you through his philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ!" Death will stand no such nonsense; the coming of eternity will not postpone its time for a moment, not one. Beggarly elements, indeed, are all such philosophy and vain deceit —beggarly elements for any one to live and die in. Is there not a Saviour? Has Christ not come? What could be nobler than to be found in Him — living in Him? Is He not the light of the world? Are not all other lights sheer darkness and bewildering confusions? Words and philosophies of men — what are these in comparison with the words of eternal life in Christ? Let the district hear the voices, then, that comes from out of this calamity. Let men's ears be opened; let men's hearts be impressed. Let it be a voice calling us all to life and not to death. Let it be a voice we can never forget. Something to teach, to instruct, to warn, to direct, so that we will be ready when the decisive moment comes to each one of us. -Mt Ida Chronicle, 13/8/1891.
THE KYEBURN FATALITY
List of Subscribers towards erecting a suitable Memorial in the Kyeburn Cemetery to commemorate the noble efforts of A. P. Beer, R. Blanchard and J. Meikle, who lost their lives in an avalanche of snow in their heroic endeavours to rescue Thomas Meikle. Amounts previously acknowledged —
Per Mr. John Law, Gimmerburn. - Total .. .. £7 17 0
Per Mr. P. J. Greer, Sowburn - Total .. .. £2 15s 6d.
Per Mr. T. Forgie, Kyeburn - Total .. .. £9 10s.
Per Mr. A. O. Mathias, Hamilton. - Total.. .. £2 10s 6d.
Per Mr. William Pyle, St. Bathans. - Total .. .. £l2 18s 6d.
Per Mr. Donald McLennan, Maruimato. - Total .. .. £5 15s 6d
Per Mr. W. A. Johnstone, Blackstone - Total .. .. £6 8s. 6d.
Per Mr. James Brown, Naseby - Total .. .. £l3 8s.
Per Mr. G. Wallace, Lower Spec. - Total .. .. £2 10s.
Per Mr. R. Little, East Kyeburn. - Total .. .. £11 16s. 6d.
Per Mr. J. M. Maisey, Eweburn. - Total .. .. £1 10s.
Per Mr. A. McSwan, - Total .. £1 8s.
W. GUFFIE, Treasurer. -Mt Ida Chronicle, 12/11/1891.
The £79.8s raised then is worth $10,328 at time of writing.
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