Doing and Daring: A New Zealand Story

by Mary Hazelton Blanchard Wade

  *CHAPTER V.*

  *POSTING A LETTER.*

  Mr. Lee and his boys found so much to do in their new home, days spedaway like hours. The bright autumn weather which had welcomed them toWairoa (to give their habitation its Maori name) had changed suddenlyfor rain--a long, deluging rain, lasting more than a week.

  The prop which Mr. Hirpington had recommended was necessarily left forthe return of fine weather. But within doors comfort was growingrapidly. One end of the large room was screened off for a workshop, andshelves and pegs multiplied in convenient corners. They were yet a goodway off from that happy condition of a place for everything, andeverything in its place. It was still picnic under a roof, as Audreysaid; but they were on the highroad to comfort and better things. Whendarkness fell they gathered round the blazing wood-fire. Mr. Lee wrotethe first letters for England, while Edwin studied "Extinct Volcanoes."Audrey added her quota to the packet preparing for Edwin's old friend,"the perambulating letter-box," and Effie and Cuthbert playedinterminable games of draughts, until Edwin shut up his book and evolvedfrom his own brains a new and enlarged edition of Maori folk-lore whichsent them "creepy" to bed.

  It seemed a contradiction of terms to say May-day was bringing winter;but winter might come upon them in haste, and the letters must be postedbefore the road to the ford was changed to a muddy rivulet.

  Mr. Lee, who had everything to do with his own hands, knew not how tospare a day. He made up his mind at last to trust Edwin to ride overwith them. To be sure of seeing Ottley, Edwin must stay all night atthe ford, for after the coach came in it would be too late for him toreturn through the bush alone.

  Edwin was overjoyed at the prospect, for Ottley would tell him all helonged to know. Was Nga-Hepe still alive? Had Whero gone to school?He might even propose another early morning walk across the bush to thebanks of the lake.

  Edwin was to ride the Maori Beauty, which had become the family name forthe chieftain's horse. Remembering his past experiences with thewhite-leaved puka-puka, he coaxed Audrey to lend him a curtain she wasnetting for the window of her own bedroom. She had not much faith inEdwin's assurances that it would not hurt it a bit just to use it foronce for a veil or muzzle; but she was horrified into compliance by hisenergetic assertion that her refusal might cost his Beauty's life.Cuthbert, mounted on an upturned pail, so that he could reach thehorse's head, did good service in the difficult task of putting it on.The veil was not at all to the Beauty's mind, and he did his best to getrid of it. But the four corners were drawn through his collar at last,and securely tied.

  With Mr. Lee's parting exhortation to mind what he was about and lookwell to Beauty's steps, Edwin started.

  The road was changed to a black, oozy, slimy track. Here and there theearth had been completely washed away, and horse and rider werefloundering in a boggy swamp. A little farther on a perfect landslipfrom the hills above had obliterated every trace of road, and Edwin wasobliged to wind his way through the trees, trusting to his Beauty'sinstinct to find it again.

  With the many wanderings from the right path time sped away. The lampwas swinging in the acacia tree as he trotted up to the friendly gate ofthe ford-house.

  "Coach in?" he shouted, as he caught sight of Dunter shovelling away themud from the entrance.

  "Not yet; but she's overdue," returned the man, anxiously. "Even Ottleywill never get his horses through much longer. We may lock ourstable-doors until the May frosts begin. It is a tempting of Providenceto start with wheels through such a swamp, and I told him so last week."

  "Then I am just in time," cried Edwin joyfully, walking his horse up tothe great flat stone in the middle of the yard and alighting. Heslipped his hand into his coat to satisfy himself the bulky letters inhis breast-pocket were all right, and then led his Beauty to thehorse-trough. He had half a mind not to go in-doors until he had hadhis talk with Ottley.

  Dunter, who was looking forward to the brief holiday the stopping of thecoach secured him, leaned on his spade and prepared for a gossip.

  "Did Mr. Lee think of building a saw-mill?" Edwin's reply ended with thecounter-inquiry, "Had Mr. Hirpington got home?"

  Dunter shook his head. "Not he: we all hold on as long as the lightlasts. He is away with the men, laying down a bit of corduroy road overan earthslip, just to keep a horse-track through the worst of thewinter."

  Whilst Edwin was being initiated into the mysteries of road-making inthe bush, the coach drove up.

  Horses and driver were alike covered with mud, and the coach itselfexhibited more than its usual quota of flax-leaf bandages--alltestifying to the roughness of the journey.

  "It is the last time you will see me this season," groaned Ottley, as hegot off the box. "I shall get no farther." He caught sight of Edwin,and recognized his presence with a friendly nod. The passengers,looking in as dilapidated and battered condition as the coach, wereslowly getting out, thankful to find themselves at a stopping-place.Among them Edwin noticed a remarkable old man.

  His snowy hair spoke of extreme old age, and when he turned a tattooedcheek towards the boy, Edwin's attention was riveted upon him at once.Lean, lank, and active still, his every air and gesture was that of aman accustomed to command.

  "Look at him well," whispered Dunter. "He is a true old tribal chieffrom the other side of the mountains, if I know anything; one of theinvincibles, the gallant old warrior-chiefs that are dying out fast. Youwill never see his like again. If you had heard them, as I have, vow tostand true for ever and ever and ever, you would never forget it.--Am Inot right, coachee?" he added in a low aside to Ottley, as he took thefore horse by the head.

  The lantern flickered across the wet ground. The weary passengers werestamping their numbed feet, and shaking the heavy drops of moisture fromhat-brims and overcoats. Edwin pressed resolutely between, that hemight catch the murmur of Ottley's reply.

  "He got in at the last stopping-place, but I do not know him."

  There was such a look of Whero in the proud flash of the aged Maori'seye, that Edwin felt a secret conviction, be he who he might, they mustbe kith and kin. He held his letter aloft to attract the coachman'sattention, calling out at his loudest, "Here, Mr. Ottley, I have broughta letter for you to post at last."

  "All right," answered the coachman, opening a capacious pocket toreceive it, in which a dozen others were already reposing. "Hand itover, my boy; there is scarcely a letter reaches the post from thisdistrict which does not go through my hands."

  "Did you post this?" asked the aged Maori, taking another from the foldsof his blanket.

  "I did more," said Ottley, as he glanced at the crumpled envelope, "forI wrote it to Kakiki Mahane, the father of Nga-Hepe's wife, at herrequest."

  "I am that father," returned the old chief.

  "And I," added Ottley, "was the eye-witness of her destitution, as thatletter tells you."

  They were almost alone now in the great wet yard. The other passengerswere hurrying in-doors, and Dunter was leading away the horses; butEdwin lingered, regardless of the heavy drops falling from the acacia,in his anxiety to hear more.

  "I have brought no following with me to the mountain-lake, for by yourletter famine is brooding in the whare of my child. Well, I know if themen of the Kota Pah heard of my coming, they would spread the feast inmy honour. But how should I eat with the enemies of my child? I waitfor the rising of the stars to find her, that none may know I am near."

  "I'll go with you," offered Ottley.

  "You need not wait for the stars," interposed Edwin; "I'll carry the bigcoach-lantern before you with pleasure. Do let me go with you," heurged, appealing to Ottley.

  "How is this?" asked Kakiki. "Does the pakeha pity when the Maorifrowns? What has my son-in-law been about, to bring down upon himselfthe vengeance of his tribe?"

  "Let your daughter answer that question," remarked Ottley discreetly.

  But Edwin put in warmly: "Nga-Hepe was too r
ich and too powerful, andthe chief grew jealous. It was a big shame; and if I had been Whero, Ishould have been worse than he was."

  Whero's grandfather deigned no reply. He stalked up the well-worn stepsinto Mrs. Hirpington's kitchen, and seating himself at the long tablecalled out for supper. Edwin just peeped in at the door, avoiding Mrs.Hirpington's eye, for fear she should interfere to prevent him goingwith the old Maori.

  "I shall see her when I come back," he thought, as he strolled ontowards the stable, keeping an anxious watch over the gate, afraid lestthe fordmaster should himself appear at the last moment and detain him.

  "You have brought Nga-Hepe's horse," said Ottley. as he entered thenearest stall. "We must have him, for he knows the way. We have onlyto give him his head, and he is safe to take the road to his master'sdoor."

  "If you have him you must have me," persisted Edwin, and the thing wassettled. He nestled down in the clean straw under Beauty's manger, andwaited, elate with the prospect of a night of adventure, and stoutlyresisted all Dunter's persuasions to go in to supper.

  Wondering at the shy fit which had seized the boy, Dunter brought him ahunch of bread and cheese, and left the lantern swinging in the stablefrom the hook in the ceiling, ere he went in with Ottley to share thegood feed always to be found in Mrs. Hirpington's kitchen, leaving Edwinalone with the horses. He latched the stable-door, as the nights weregrowing cold. The gates were not yet barred, for Mr. Hirpington and hismen were now expected every minute.

  Edwin's thoughts had gone back to the corduroy road, which Dunter hadtold him was made of the trunks of trees laid close together, with alayer of saplings on the top to fill up the interstices. He was makingit in miniature with some bits of rush and reed scattered about thestables, when the latch was softly lifted, and Whero stood before him.Not the Whero he had parted from by the white pines, but the leanskeleton of a boy with big, staring eyes, and bony arms coming out fromthe loose folds of the blanket he was wearing, like the arms of aharlequin. Edwin sprang up to meet him, exclaiming, "Your grandfather ishere." But instead of replying, Whero was vigorously rubbing faces withhis good old Beauty.

  "Have you come to meet your grandfather?" asked Edwin.

  "No," answered the boy abruptly. "I've come to ask Ottley to take me toschool." His voice was hollow, and his teeth seemed to snap together atthe sight of the bread in Edwin's hand.

  "Whero, you are starving!" exclaimed Edwin, putting the remainder of hissupper into the dusky, skinny fingers smoothing Beauty's mane.

  "A man must learn to starve," retorted Whero. "The mother here will giveme food when I come of nights and talk to Ottley."

  "But your own mother, Whero, and Ronga, and the children, how do theylive?" Edwin held back from asking after Nga-Hepe, "for," he said, as helooked at Whero, "he must be dead."

  "How do they live?" repeated Whero, with a laugh. "Is the door of thewhare ever shut against the hungry? They go to the pah daily, but Iwill not go. I will not eat with the men who struck down my father inhis pride. I wander through the bush. Let him eat the food they bringhim--he knows not yet how it comes; but his eyes are opening to theworld again. When he sees me hunger-bitten, and my sister Rewi fat asever, he will want the reason why. I will not give it. His strength isgone if he starves as I starve. How can it return? No; I will go toschool to-morrow before he asks me."

  Edwin's hand grasped Whero's with a warmth of sympathy that was onlyheld in check by the dread of another nasal caress, and he exclaimed,"Come along, old fellow, and have a look at your grandfather too."

  There was something about the grand old Maori's face which made Edwinfeel that he both could and would extricate his unfortunate daughterfrom her painful position.

  "It is a fix," Edwin went on; "but he has come to pull you through, Ifeel sure."

  Still Whero held back. He did not believe it was his grandfather. _He_would not come without a following; and more than that, the proud boycould not stoop to show himself to a stranger of his own race in such amiserable guise. He coiled himself round in the straw and refused tostir.

  "Now, Whero," Edwin remonstrated, "I call this really foolish; and if Iwere you I would not, I could not do it, speak of my own mother as oneof the women. I like your mother. It rubs me up to hear you--" Theboy stopped short; the measured breathing of his companion struck on hisear. Whero had already fallen fast asleep by Beauty's side.

  "Oh, bother!" thought Edwin. "Yet, poor fellow, I won't wake you up,but I'll go and tell your grandfather you are here."

  He went out, shutting the door after him, and encountered Mr. Hirpingtoncoming in with his men.

  "Hollo, Edwin, my boy, what brings you here?" he exclaimed.

  "Please, sir, I came over with a packet of letters for Mr. Ottley topost," was the quick answer, as Edwin walked on by his side, intent upondelivering his father's messages.

  "All right," was the hearty response. "We'll see. Come, now I think ofit, we can send your father some excellent hams and bacon we bought ofthe Maoris. Some of poor Hepe's stores, I expect."

  "That was a big shame," muttered Edwin, hotly, afraid to hurt poorWhero's pride by explaining his forlorn state to any one but hisgrandfather.

  He entered the well-remembered room with the fordmaster, looking eagerlyfrom side to side, as Mr. Hirpington pushed him into the first vacantseat at the long table, where supper for the "coach" was going forward.Edwin was watching for the old chief, who sat by Ottley, gravelydevouring heap after heap of whitebait, potatoes, and pumpkins withwhich the "coach" took care to supply him. Mrs. Hirpington cast anxiousglances round the table, fearing that the other passengers would runshort, as the old Maori still asked for "more," repeating in a loudvoice, "More, more kai!" which Ottley interpreted "food." Dunter wasbringing forth the reserves from the larder--another cheese, the remainsof the mid-day pudding, and a huge dish of brawn, not yet cold enough tobe turned out of the mould, and therefore in a quaky state. The oldchief saw it tremble, and thinking it must be alive, watched itcuriously.

  "What strange animals you pakehas bring over the sea!" he exclaimed atlast, adding, as he sprang to his feet and drew the knife in his beltwith a savage gesture, "I'll kill it."

  The laughter every one was trying to suppress choked the explanationthat would have been given on all sides. With arm upraised, and acontorted face that alone was enough to frighten Mrs. Hirpington out ofher wits, he plunged the knife into the unresisting brawn to its veryhilt, utterly amazed to find neither blood nor bones to resist it."Bah!" he exclaimed, in evident disgust.

  "Here, Edwin," gasped the shaking fordmaster, "give the old fellow aspoon."

  Edwin snatched up one from the corner of the table, and careful not towound the aged Maori's pride, which might be as sensitive as hisgrandson's, he explained to him as well as he could that brawn wasbrawn, and very jolly stuff for a supper.

  "Example is better than precept at all times," laughed Mr. Hirpington."Show him what to do with the spoon."

  Edwin obeyed literally, putting it to his own lips and then offering itto Kakiki. The whole room was convulsed with merriment. Ottley and Mr.Hirpington knew this would not do, and exerted themselves to recoverself-control sufficiently to persuade the old man to taste and try theIngarangi kai.

  He drew the dish towards him with the utmost gravity, and havingpronounced the first mouthful "Good, good," he worked away at it untilthe whole of its contents had disappeared. And all the while Whero wasstarving in the stable.

  "I can't stand this any longer," thought Edwin. "I must get himsomething to eat, I must;" and following Dunter into the larder, heexplained the state of the case.

  "Wants to go by the coach and cannot pay for supper and bed. I see,"returned Dunter.

  Edwin thought of the treasure by the white pines as he answered, "I amafraid so."

  "That's hard," pursued the man good-naturedly; "but the missis nevergrudges a mouthful of food to anybody. I'll see after him."

  "Let me take it to h
im," urged Edwin, receiving the unsatisfactoryreply, "Just wait a bit; I'll see," as Dunter was called off in anotherdirection; and with this he was obliged to be content.

  Ottley was so taken up with the aged chief--who was considerably annoyedto find himself the laughing-stock of the other passengers--that Edwincould not get a word with him. He tried Mr. Hirpington, who was nowtalking politics with a Wellingtonian fresh from the capital. Edwin, inhis fever of impatience, thought the supper would never end. After awhile some of the passengers went off to bed, and others drew round thefire and lit their pipes.

  Mrs. Hirpington, Kakiki, and the coachman alone remained at the table.At last the dish of brawn was cleared, and the old Maori drew himself upwith a truly royal air. Taking out a well-filled purse, in which somehundreds of English sovereigns were glittering, he began counting on hisfingers, "One ten, two ten--how muts?" (much).

  Ottley, who understood a Maori's simple mode of reckoning better thanany one present, was assisting Mrs. Hirpington to make her bill, andbegan to speak to Kakiki about their departure.

  The fordmaster could see how tired the chief was becoming, and suddenlyremembered a Maori's contempt and dislike for the wretched institutionof chairs. He was determined to make the old man comfortable, andfetching a bear-skin from the inner room, he spread it on the floor bythe fire, and invited Kakiki to take possession. Edwin ran to his help,and secured the few minutes for talk he so much desired. Mr. Hirpingtonlistened and nodded.

  "You will have to stay here until the morning," he added, "every one ofyou. Go off with Dunter and make the boy outside as comfortable as youcan. I should be out of my duty to let that old man cross the bush atnight, with so much money about him. Better fetch his grandson in here."

  Mrs. Hirpington laid her hand on Edwin's shoulder as he passed, and toldhim, with her pleasant smile, his bed was always ready at the ford.

  Dunter pointed to a well-filled plate and a mug of tea, placed ready tohis hand on the larder shelf; and stretching over Edwin's head, heunbolted the door to let him out.

  The Southern Cross shone brightly above the iron roof as Edwin steppedinto the yard to summon Whero. The murmur of the water as it lapped onthe boating-stairs broke the stillness without, and helped to guide himto the stable-door. The lantern had burnt out. He groped his way in,and giving Whero a hearty shake, charged him to come along.

  But the hand he grasped was withdrawn.

  "I can't," persisted Whero; "I'm too ashamed." He meant too shy to facethe "coach," and tell all he had endured in their presence. The ideawas hateful to him.

  Edwin placed the supper on the ground and ran back for Ottley. He foundthe coachman explaining to Kakiki why Marileha had refused to accept themoney for the horse, and how he had kept it for her use.

  "Then take this," cried Kakiki, flinging the purse of gold towards him,"and do the like."

  But Ottley's "No!" was dogged in its decision.

  "What for no?" asked Kakiki, angrily.

  "Who is his daughter?" whispered Mr. Hirpington to his wife.

  "You know her: she wears the shark's teeth, tied in her ears with ablack ribbon," Mrs. Hirpington answered, sleepily.

  Then he went to the rescue, and tried to persuade Kakiki to place hismoney in the Auckland Bank for his daughter's benefit, pointing out asclearly as he could the object of a bank, and how to use it. As theintelligent old man began to comprehend him, he reiterated, "Good, good;the pitfall is only dangerous when it is covered. My following aremarching after me up the hills. If I enter the Rota Pah with the stateof a chief, there will be fighting. Send back my men to their canoes.Hide the wealth that remains to my child as you say, but let thatwahini" (meaning Mrs. Hirpington) "take what she will, and bid her sendkai by night to my daughter's whare, that there may be no starving.This bank shall be visited by me, and then I go a poor old man to sleepby my daughter's fire until her warrior's foot is firm upon the earthonce more. I'll wrap me in that thin sheet," he went on, seizing thecorner of the table-cloth, which was not yet removed.

  Mr. Hirpington let him have it without a word, and Ottley rejoiced tofind them so capable and so determined to extricate Marileha from herperil.

  "Before this moon shall pass," said Kakiki, "I will take her away, withher family, to her own people. Let your canoe be ready to answer mysignal."

  "Agreed," replied Mr. Hirpington; "I'll send my boat whenever you wantit."

  "For all that," thought Edwin, "will Nga-Hepe go away?" He longed tofetch in Whero, that he might enter into his grandfather's plans; andas, one after another, the passengers went off to bed, he made his wayto Mrs. Hirpington. Surely he could coax her to unbar the door oncemore and let him out to the stables.

  "What, another Maori asleep in the straw!" she exclaimed. "They do takeliberties. Pray, my dear, don't bring him in here, or we shall be upall night."

  Edwin turned away again in despair.

  Having possessed himself of the table-cloth, the old chief lay down onthe bear-skin and puffed away at the pipe Mr. Hirpington had offeredhim, in silence revolving his schemes.

  He was most anxious to ascertain how his son-in-law had brought downupon himself the vengeance of the tribe amongst which he lived. "I willnot break the peace of the hills," he said at length, "for he may haveerred. Row me up stream while the darkness lasts, that I may havespeech of my child."

  "Too late," said Mr. Hirpington; "wait for the daylight."

  "Are there not stars in heaven?" retorted Kakiki, rising to try thedoor.

  "Am I a prisoner?" he demanded angrily, when he found it fastened.

  Mr. Hirpington felt he had been reckoning without his host when hedeclared no one should leave his roof that night. But he was not theman to persist in a mistake, so he threw it open.

  "I'll row him," said Dunter.

  Edwin ran out with them. Here was the chance he had been seeking. Heflew to the stable and roused up Whero. Grandfather and grandson metand deliberately rubbed noses by the great flat stone which Edwin hadused as a horse-block. Whilst Dunter and Mr. Hirpington were gettingout the boat, they talked to each other in their native tongue.

  "It will be all right now, won't it?" asked Edwin, in a low aside toOttley, who stood in the doorway yawning. But Kakiki beckoned them tothe conference.

  "The sky is black with clouds above my daughter's head; her people havedeserted her--all but Ronga. Would they cut off the race of Hepe? Somemiscreant met the young lord in the bush, and tried to push him down amud-hole; but he sprang up a tree, and so escaped. Take him to schoolas he wills. When I go down to the bank I shall see him there. It isgood that he should learn. The letter has saved my child."