*CHAPTER XIII.*
*FEEDING THE HUNGRY.*
As Edwin crossed the desolated bush, the morning sun lit up themarvellous cloud-banks with a flush of pink and gold that held himspell-bound with the strangeness of the sight, until the dust-driftbefore him began to tremble visibly with an earthquake shock. He wasnot wrong in his estimate of Beauty's intelligence, but the weary horsepoked his head forward and walked languidly. Edwin avoided the hillwhere he had found the kaka. He shrank from the gruesome spot even bydaylight.
He was trying to find a safe pathway to the lake, when he saw Ottleywalking rapidly towards him. He waved his arm to the boy to stop. Asthey drew near to each other, Edwin almost shuddered, expecting to hearnothing but ill news. He was bitterly reproaching himself for nothaving asked the captain if he had heard anything of his father.
But Ottley shouted out "Well met" in a cheery tone, adding dryly, "Ihope you got some breakfast at the camp, for on this side of the bush itis very hard to find. We have been at it all night. Nga-Hepe has notyet come round; but Marileha is saved, and her white-haired father too.We have done what we could, with nothing to help us but the keen frostyair and muddy water. Now we must have food, for most of the villagersfrom the Rota Pah had taken refuge with them. The mud slipped off thesloping roof of Nga-Hepe's whare when half the huts in the pah laycrushed beneath its weight. I am going to the ford to see if Hirpingtonhas come back to his place. He kept a full store-room at all times."
"O Mr. Ottley," exclaimed Edwin, "let me go too, for father may be withhim."
"No, he is not, my boy," returned Ottley, compassionately. "He was thefirst in the field, and did wonders. He has been hurt by a fallingtree, but an old fellow they call Hal is taking care of him in one ofthe tents. I'll show you where."
"Show me at once," entreated Edwin. "I must go to father first,wherever he is. I have been such a very long while trying to find him.Is it very far from here?"
"No," answered Ottley; "but you must wait until I can take you there.You had better come with me now, and get some food for your fatherwhilst I can give it to you. If Hirpington has not come back, we mustdig into the house and help ourselves, and reckon the pay when we meet."
"Please, Mr. Ottley," burst in Edwin, "tell me all about father. Is hemuch hurt?"
"My boy," exclaimed Ottley, "I know no more than you do; but if he isroughing it, as our fellows do up there alone, better wait and see whatI can find."
Edwin felt the force of this reasoning, and said no more. Ottley laidhis hand on Beauty's rein, and walked beside him.
Suddenly Edwin looked up, exclaiming, "This is Sunday morning!"
"And a strange Sunday it is," answered Ottley, somewhat dreamily, as histhoughts went back to Sundays long ago, bringing with them an echo ofthe church-going bells, to which his ear had so long been a stranger."Sunday up country in New Zealand," he went on, "is little beside aname, except to those who can hear the sermon of the stones and read thebooks--"
"In the running brooks," added Edwin; "and good in everything. But isit so?"
"Nature's voices have been speaking in tones to which all must listen,"continued Ottley. "Yet the Lord was not in the earthquake and thestorm, but in the still small voice."
His words were slow and grave, so unlike his usual tones Edwin listenedin silence, and in silence they approached the ford. Even Beauty'sfootsteps were inaudible, for the mud by the river had not dried as fastas elsewhere.
The boy's heart was heavy with apprehension as he looked up, expectingto see the familiar gate; but not one trace of post or gate remained.The acacia tree in which the lamp used to hang was riven asunder. Thegrassy mound and the gorse hedge were gone. The road had been raised bythe mud and dust to the level of the farm-yard wall. Almost withoutknowing they did so, they went straight over it, and found themselveseven with the window of the hay-loft. The roof of the house was crushedin, and its doors and windows banked up with mud. As they looked roundat it, Edwin pointed to the hole his father must have made when heextricated his friend's family. A man was getting out of it at themoment. They stood quite still and watched him draw up a full sackafter him.
"There is some one before us on the same errand," said Edwin; but Ottleyhushed him without replying.
The man looked round as Edwin's voice broke the profound stillness.Ottley shouted to him, "Wait where you are, mate, and I will come toyour help."
The coachman knew if the man were on honest work intent he would gladlyaccept his offer, for the sack was so full he could hardly move it. Buthe thought, if the fellow is a thief, he will try to get rid of me.Ottley turned to Edwin, saying carelessly, with the air of one at homein the place, "You will find some hay for your horse inside that window.Give him a good feed, whilst I look round and see if all is safe."
He was speaking loud enough for the man to hear him. He was trying tomake the fellow understand that he was there to protect Mr. Hirpington'sproperty. He left Edwin to feed his horse, and walked quickly across theheaps of mud Mr. Lee had shovelled away from the window nearest to thewater.
The man had let the sack drop, and now stood idly on the main beam,which had not been displaced, as if he too were surveying the extent ofthe mischief. Ottley leaped across and stood beside him, observing, "Thecolonists are everywhere returning to their homes. The general opinionseems to be that the danger is over. Hirpington may be expected anyminute. I came over to help him."
The men stood looking at each other, and Edwin recognized the fellow onthe roof. It was the rabbiter who had spoken to him in the dark when hethought no one could hear him but his father.
"O Mr. Ottley," he called out, "it is one of the rabbiters who came toour help."
"And are you the farmer's son?" asked the man, descending from the roofto speak to him.
Edwin was feeling very grateful to the rabbiters. Hal was nursing hisfather, and he looked on them as friends. So when the man approachedand asked him what he had come to the ford for he answered him freely,explaining all that had happened since they parted. Edwin ended hisaccount with the dismaying intelligence, "Mr. Ottley says there is nofood to be had--nothing to give the poor Maoris to eat--so we have cometo look if we can find any food among these ruins."
"No harm in that," returned the man quickly. "We are all on the sameerrand."
These were Edwin's own words, and he smiled, not knowing anything ofOttley's suspicion that the man was bent on plunder. The rabbiterwalked off, and they saw no more of him.
Ottley continued his examination of the premises. The house to theriver-side was not greatly damaged. If the roof were repaired, Mr.Hirpington could inhabit it again, and clear away the mud from thegarden side at his leisure. But Ottley had no idea where his friend hadtaken refuge. He could send him no warning to return and see after hisproperty. The window of the store-room looked to the river. As he wentround to examine it, he found the old ford-horse wading about in thewater, cropping at the weeds which grew on its margin. When Dunter lethim loose--for no power on earth could make him travel on land--he swamdown stream, and returned to his beloved ford, which he had crossed andrecrossed several times, for his own gratification. Ottley called himout of the water, and led him round to share the hay with Beauty. Hewas anxious about his own coach-horses, for whose benefit the store ofhay had been provided. They were gone. Probably Mr. Hirpington hadopened the stable-doors at the first shock of earthquake. The hay washis own, and he told Edwin to tie up a bundle and take it away with himfor Beauty. He was glad to see the man had gone off quietly, and saidno more about him. He saw no occasion to put Edwin on his guard, as hewas going to take him back to his father directly. He had not muchfaith in any boy's discretion, and he thought he might talk about theman to Hal.
Ottley knew well, when there were so many abandoned homes and so manyhomeless wanderers, what was sure to follow. "But," he said to himself,"this state of things will not last many days; yet a
lot of mischief maybe done, and how is the property to be protected? Life must standfirst. A good dog would guard the ruins, but Hirpington's must all havefollowed their master."
He crawled into the hay-loft and pulled out a tarpaulin, which, withEdwin's assistance, he spread over the broken roof, and fastened assecurely as he could, to keep out the weather and other depredators.Then he cut away the lattice of the store-room window with hispocket-knife, until he had cleared a space big enough for Edwin to slipthrough.
"This feels like house-breaking," said the boy with a laugh, as his feetfound a resting-place on Mrs. Hirpington's chopping-block, and he drewin his head and stood upright.
"Ah! but it is not," returned Ottley gravely. "All this is accommodationprovided for my 'coach,' and paid for. It will be all right between meand Hirpington. If anybody talks of following in our steps, tell themwhat I say. Now hand me up that cheese, and the ham on the oppositeshelf, and look if there is a round of beef in salt. There should bebovril and tea and sugar somewhere. We may want those for your father.Now for the flour!"
Edwin undid the window from the inside, but he could not lift a sack offlour. He handed up a biscuit-tin, and pound after pound of coffee,until Ottley began to think they had as much as they could carry away.Like a careful housekeeper, Mrs. Hirpington kept the door of herstore-room locked, so they could not get through to the kitchen to findthe bacon. Where Mrs. Hirpington kept her bread was a puzzle. ThenOttley remembered there was another pantry; but they could not get atit. He discovered two great baskets in the loft, used in thefruit-gathering. He slung them over Beauty's back, and filled them full.Edwin got out of the window again, and shut it after him. Mrs.Hirpington's pastry-board was converted into a temporary shutter. Butas all Ottley's fastenings had to be done on the outside, they couldalso be undone if any one were so minded. Yet this consideration couldnot weigh against the starving people by the lake. Ottley pulled thehay still in the loft close up to the window, which they left open, sothat the old forder could help himself. Then they attempted once againto cross the bush. Poor Beauty was terribly annoyed by his panniers. Heconceived the wild idea of rolling over on the ground, to get rid ofthem. But Ottley promptly circumvented all such attempts. As for theload of hay on his back, Beauty was decidedly of opinion the best way tofree himself from that was to eat it up. Edwin contented him with anoccasional handful, and much patting and coaxing to soothe his ruffledtemper.
It was the middle of the day before they reached Nga-Hepe's whare, whichthe kindly band of excavators had so expeditiously unroofed. When theirwork was over in that direction, they had dug into the mud heaps whichmarked the site of the Rota Pah, and many a poor Maori had been liftedinto light and air.
Some of the inhabitants of the village had rushed out at the firstalarm, and had escaped in their canoes; others had taken refuge inNga-Hepe's strongly-built whare; but many had perished beneath theirfalling roofs.
The captain and his mates had bent all their energies to the task. Theyhad shovelled away the mud from the council-hall, which was also,according to Maori custom, the sleeping-room of the tribe. Here theyfound men, women, and children huddled together, for the stronger beamof its roof had not yet given way under the weight of the mud. They hadcarried the survivors to the fire on the bank of the lake, and left themin Whero's care, to await Ottley's return with the food. There wasnothing more that the captain and his companions could do here. Butother lives might yet be saved elsewhere; and they hurried back to thehelp of the comrades they had abandoned when Ottley's message reachedthem.
The natives, swathed in their mats and blankets, were lying in groups onthe frozen mud, still gasping and groaning, suffering as much fromterror as from physical exhaustion. But the rich men of the tribe, whomay always be known by some additional bit of European clothing, werenot among them.
The aged patriarch Kakiki, who had been among the first to rally, hadraised himself on his elbow, and was asking eager questions about them.
"Where is Pepepe? Hopo-Hopo where? Are there none to answer?" hedemanded, gazing at the dazed faces around him. "Then will I tell you.They are struck by the gods in their anger. Who are the gods weworship? who but the mighty ones of the tribe--men whose anger made thebrave tremble even here on earth. Who then can hope to stand againsttheir anger in the dwelling of the gods? Is not Hepe the terrible oneforemost among them? Did ye at all appease him when ye sent the tana toa son of his race? See his vengeance on Pepepe! He lies dead in thepah, he who proposed it. Who shall carry up his bones to the sacredmountain, that he may sleep with his fathers? The gods will have noneof him, for has he not eaten up their child? Ye who brought hunger tothis whare, in this place has hunger found you. Ye left Nga-Hepe naughtbut a roof to shelter him; he has naught but that shelter to give younow. As the lightning shrivels up the fern, so shame shall shrivel upthe tongue which asks of him the food of which ye have robbed him."
He ceased speaking as Ottley came in sight. Whero was hidden among thereeds, filling a pail he had exhumed with the muddy water from the lake.Four or five of the other Maoris staggered to their feet and interceptedthe horse, clamouring and snatching at the food in its panniers. Theyhad eaten nothing since the night of the eruption. The supply Ottleyhad brought looked meagre and poor amongst so many, and whilst hepromised every man a share, he steadily resisted all their attempts tohelp themselves until he came up with the little cluster of women andchildren cowering between the heaps of thatch, when a dozen hands werequickly tearing out the contents of the baskets.
Old Konga seized a stick and tried to beat them off, while Marilehastood behind her imploring her old friends to remember her famishingbabes.
Edwin was pushed down, but he scrambled up and ran to meet Whero, asKakiki Mahane rose slowly from the ground and laid a detaining hand uponthe horse's mane. "Who fights with starving men?" he exclaimed, and thestick fell from Ronga's hand in mute obedience.
"What is the matter?" asked Whero, as the boys stood face to face."There is trouble in your eyes, my brother--a trouble I do not share."
"Ottley has promised to take me on to father; the time is flying, and hecannot get away," said Edwin.
Whero's cheek was rubbed softly against his, a word was whisperedbetween them, and Whero went round to where his own father lay groaningon the ground, leaving his pail behind him. "Father, father, rouseyourself," he entreated, "or the men of the pah will tear the kindcoachman to pieces!"
Edwin caught up the pail and threw away the muddy water which Whero hadtaken such pains to reach, but no vexation at the sight brought theslightest cloud to his dusky face.
"Throw me that tin of coffee," shouted Edwin to the resolute Ottley, whowas dividing the food so that every one should have a share, accordingto his promise.
The desired tin came flying through the air. Edwin emptied its contentsinto his pail. "Whoever wants coffee," he cried, "must fill this at thegeyser."
Nga-Hepe lifted his head from the ground where he had been lying,apparently taking no notice, and said something to his wife. She movedslowly amidst the group until she reached her old friend the coachman."Go," she whispered. "The boiling spring is choked by the mud. The menare scattering to find another. Go before they return. In their heartsthey love you not as we do. Go!"
He put the remainder of his stores into her hands, sprang upon Beauty,and caught up Edwin behind him. They looked back to the old man and thechildren, and waved their hands in farewell, taking nothing away withthem but the bovril and the tea in Edwin's pocket.
They rode on in silence until they felt themselves beyond the reach ofthe excited crowd. Both were looking very grave when at last theyreached the tent where Mr. Lee was lying. The lowering skies betokeneda change of weather.
"Rain," said Ottley, looking upwards; "but rain may free us from thisplague of dust."
Hal, who had heard their steps approaching, came out to meet them.Whilst he was speaking to Ottley, Edwin slipped off the horse and raninto the
tent. He found his father lying on the ground, apparentlyasleep. He knelt down beside him and listened to his heavy breathing.The dreamy eyes soon opened and fastened on his face.
"Don't you know me, father?" asked Edwin, taking the hand which hungdown nervelessly in both of his.
"Where are the little ones?" asked Mr. Lee.
"Safe by this time with Mr. Bowen's grandson, father," answered Edwin.But the reply was hardly spoken when the dreamy eyelids closed, and Mr.Lee was fast asleep again.
Edwin looked out of the door of the tent, where the men were stilltalking.
"If it had not been for those surveying fellows," Hal was saying, "whohurried up from the south with their camp, what should I have done?They lent me this tent and gave me some bread."
"Where are they?" asked Edwin, glancing round. "I want to thank themall."
"Why, lad," exclaimed Hal, "they are miles away from here now. They saythe mud has fallen from Taheka to Wairoa. Not your little bit of aplace, but a big village. We've lots of Wairoas; it is a regular Maoriname."
"Yes," added Ottley, "they have gone on; for the mud has fallen heavyfor ten miles round the mountain--some declare it is a hundred feet deepat Te Ariki--and there may be other lives to save even now."
"Ah, but you have done a bad day's work, I fear," persisted the oldrabbiter. "You have brought back to life a dangerous neighbour; whichmay make it hardly safe for us to stay where we are. His people willfollow the horse's tracks, and come and eat up all my little hoard; andhow can an old man like me defend himself? They would soon knock meover, and what would become of poor Lee? He will sleep himself right ifwe can let him lie still where he is; but if these Maoris comeclamouring round us, it will be all over with him."
Edwin grew so white as he overheard this, Ottley urged him to go back tohis father and rest whilst they lit a fire and prepared the tea.
He gave Beauty his feed of hay, and gathering up the remainder he tookit in with him, to try to make his father a better bed than the old rugon which he was lying.
It would be a bad day's work indeed if it were to end as Hal predicted.He trembled as he slipped the hay beneath his father's head, wonderingto find him sleeping undisturbed in the midst of such calamities asthese. "If he could only speak to me!" he groaned.
He had found at last one quiet Sunday hour, but how could he have kneltdown to pray that night if he had refused to help Whero? His fears werefor his father, but he laid them down. Had he to live this day overagain to-morrow he would do the same. His heart was at rest once more,and he fell asleep.
He was wakened by Hal and Ottley coming inside the tent. It was rainingsteadily. There was no such thing as keeping a fire alight in the open.The tea had been hastily brewed. It was none the better for that; butsuch as it was, they were thankful for it. They roused up Edwin to havehis share. It was so dark now he could scarcely see the hand which heldthe cup. Hal spread the one or two remaining wraps he had, and preparedfor the night. They all lay down for a few hours' sleep. Edwin was thenearest to his father.
The two men were soon snoring, but Edwin was broad awake. Mr. Lee moveduneasily, and threw aside the blanket which covered him. Edwin bentover him in a moment.
"Is there anything I can do for you, father?" he said.
Mr. Lee was feeling about in the blanket. "Where is my belt?" he asked.
Edwin did not say a word to rouse the other sleepers; but although itwas perfectly dark, he soon satisfied himself the belt was gone.
It was a wash-leather belt, in which Mr. Lee had quilted his money forsafety. Edwin knew it well. He realized in a moment what a loss itwould be to his father if this were missing. Hal had set Mr. Lee's legwith splints of bark; whilst he was doing this he might have taken offthe belt. Perhaps it would be found in a corner of the tent when it waslight. Edwin felt he must mind what he said about it to Hal, who wastaking such care of his father. He saw that more clearly than anythingelse.
No; he would only tell Ottley, and with this decision he too fellasleep.
He was so tired out, so worn, so weary, that he slept long and heavily.When he roused it was broad daylight, and Ottley, whose time was up, haddeparted. Hal had made a fire, and was preparing a breakfast of tea. Heagreed to save the bovril Edwin had brought for his father alone.
They made a hole in the floor of the tent, not deep enough to break thecrust of the mud, and lined it with bark. Here they kept the littlejar, for fear any of the Maoris should see it, if they came across tobeg for food.
Whilst the two were drinking their tea and watching the lowering clouds,which betokened more rain, the other rabbiter whom Ottley had surprisedin the ford-house strolled out from among the leafless trees and invitedhimself to a share. Edwin and Hal, who knew he needed it as much asthey did, felt it would indeed be selfish to refuse him a breakfast.
As they sat round the fire Hal took counsel with his mate, and talkedover the difficulties of their position.
Ottley had promised to try to send them help to remove Mr. Lee to asafer place. But Hal, who was expecting one of those torrents of rainwhich mark a New Zealand winter, feared they might be washed away beforethat help arrived.
Lawford--as he called his mate--was of the same opinion, and offered, ifEdwin would accompany him, to go across to the ford-house and see if theHirpingtons had returned.
This seemed the most hopeful thought of all, and Edwin brightened as heran off to catch Beauty.
He had left his father comfortably pillowed in the hay, which he hadmade to serve a double purpose, but he was now obliged to pull a bitaway for the horse's breakfast.
As he started with Lawford, Hal called after them to be sure to wrenchoff a shutter or a loose bit of board. They must bring back somethingon which poor Mr. Lee could be laid, to move him.
Beauty trotted off briskly. After a while Lawford looked over hisshoulder at Edwin, who was riding behind him, and said shortly, "Now weare safe, I have something to tell you."
Doing and Daring: A New Zealand Story Page 13
