26/10/2026
“In July, 1910, Arrowtown was cuddled down under a blanket of deep snow. Most of the inhabitants were gold-miners – hard-working, rough and tough. And they were eager to face the daily hazardous challenge of the search for gold. Now, they were chafing at the bit; fed up with the snow and their enforced idleness.
The bars of the three hotels in the township were choked with them – a rip-roaring, drunken mob, spilling gold across the counters to pay for their wh**ky and being dumped into the snow when their pockets ran dry.
Into the midst of this hullabaloo came Charles Eckhardt, that rare thing a visitor to Arrowtown. In less than five minutes after the steaming, panting horses hurtled the mail coach up the street and into Jopp’s Livery Stables, the customers spilled out from the bars to view this one and only passenger.
He stood in the glimmer of the stable lamps, silent; a slim, lightly built man of average height, fair hair, moustache to match; nondescript except for a pair of exceptionally bright blue eyes that twinkled brightly at the staring mob as he endured their, scrutiny.
“Queer-looking buggar you are,” said one drunk belligerently. “What part of the world do you hail from?” yelled another.
Charles Eckhardt faced them. “Certainly I vill tell you,” he said, “I vill tell you all. I vos born in Berlin. I am German, and I come here to live and be happy mit you all, and that is all.” He left them fuzzily sorting out the information and made his way across to the Royal Oak Hotel.”
From “Child of the Arrow” by Josephine Trail (1984)
