Doing and Daring: A New Zealand Story

by Mary Hazelton Blanchard Wade

  *CHAPTER XV.*

  *WHO HAS BEEN HERE?*

  "Edwin," said Mr. Lee, when he saw his son shivering beside him in thegray of the wintry morning, "what is the matter with you? Have you hadenough to eat?"

  "Not quite. Well, you see, father, we have to do as we can," smiledEdwin, in reply.

  "Certainly; but where on earth have we got to?" resumed the sick man, ashe glanced upwards at the interlacing boughs.

  "We are high up in the hills, father, in one of the old Maorifastnesses, where the mud and the flood cannot reach us," answeredEdwin.

  "And the children?" asked Mr. Lee.

  "Are all safe by the sea," was the quick reply.

  Mr. Lee's ejaculations of thankfulness were an unspeakable comfort toEdwin.

  "Did not I hear the splash of oars last night?" asked his father.

  "You might when Whero came. He guided us here," said Edwin.

  "Then," resumed his father, "try to persuade this Maori to row you inhis canoe down the river until you come to an English farm. Thecolonists are all so neighbourly and kind, they will sell or lend orgive you what we want most. Make the Maori bring you back. You mustpay him well; these Maoris will do nothing without good pay. Rememberthat; but there is plenty in the belt." Mr. Lee ceased speaking. He wasalmost lost again, and Edwin dare not remind him that the belt was gone.But Edwin knew if Whero would do it at all, he would not want to bepaid.

  "With this leg," sighed Mr. Lee slowly and dreamily,"I--am--a--fixture."

  Sleep was stealing over him, and Edwin did not venture to reply.

  A sympathetic drowsiness was visiting him also, but he was roused out ofit by seeing Hal busily engaged in trying to capture the kaka.

  "It is a good, fat bird," whispered the old man; "they are first-rateeating in a pie. We can cook him as we did the duck I found; put him inthe boiling mud as the natives do!"

  Up sprang Edwin to the rescue. "No, Hal, no; you must not touch thatbird!"

  He caught the old man's arm, and scared the kaka off. The frightenedbird soared upwards, and concealed itself in the overarching boughs.

  Whero was awakened by its screams, and got up, shaking the dry moss fromhis tangled shock of hair, and laughing.

  Edwin called off attention from the kaka by detailing his father's plan.

  The breakfastless trio were of one mind. It must be tried, as itoffered the surest hope of relief. The river was so much safer than theroad. Ottley might never have it in his power to send the promisedhelp. Some danger might have overwhelmed him also. What was the use ofwaiting for the growing of the grass, if a readier way presented itself?Hal spread out the canvas of the tent to dry, and talked of putting itup in the new location. Legs and arms were wonderfully stiff fromkeeping on wet clothes. But the most pressing want was water. Dryground and pure air were essential, but thirst was intolerable. Theytook the cup by turns and went down to a spring which Whero pointed out.Beauty had found for himself a little pond, which nature had scoopedout, and the recent rains had filled with greenish water which he didnot despise.

  Whilst Hal was away, Edwin intimated to Whero that it was not very safeto leave his kaka with him; for he feared the bird would be killed andeaten as soon as they were gone, although he did not say so to his Maorifriend.

  Whero's eyes were ablaze with rage in a moment. "Let him touch it!" hesnorted rather than hissed. "I'll meet him. If it's here on the hill,I'll hurl him over that precipice. If--if--" Edwin's eye was fastenedon the boy with a steady gaze. Whero raised his clinched hand, as if tostrike. "Tell him," he went on--"tell him in our country here the mudis ever boiling to destroy the Maori's foes. I'll push him down thefirst jet we pass." He looked around him proudly, and kicked away theskull beneath his foot, as if to remind his listener how in that veryspot the threats in which he had been indulging found plenty ofprecedent.

  Edwin exerted all his self-command. He would not suffer one angry orone fearful word to pass his lips, although both anger and fear wererising in his heart. But the effort to keep himself as cool and quietas he could was rewarded. Whero saw that he was not afraid; and theuncontrollable passion of the young savage expended itself in vaindenunciations.

  Edwin knew how the Maoris among themselves despise an outburst ofpassion, and he tried to shame Whero, saying, "Is that the way yourwarriors talk at their councils? Ours are grave, and reason with eachother, until they find out the wisest course to take. That is what Iwant to do as soon as we have caught the kaka."

  The catching of the macaw proved a safety-valve; and Whero went down tothe lake to get the canoe ready, with the bird on his wrist.

  Edwin ran back to beg Hal to return to his father, as he and Whero werehurrying off to the lake. He had saved a dangerous quarrel, but it lefthim very grave. He was more and more afraid of what Whero might do in amoment of rage. "Oh, I am excessively glad, I am thankful," he thought,"that I was not forced to leave him alone with Effie and Cuthbert!" Itwas well that Whero was rowing, for the exertion seemed to calm him.Edwin escaped from the difficulty of renewing their conversation bybeginning to sing, and Whero, with all the Maori love of music, waseasily lured to listen as "Merry may the keel row" echoed from bank tobank, and the splash of his paddle timed itself to the words of thesong.

  Edwin assured him he was singing to keep the kaka quiet, which hadnestled on his folded arms, and was looking up in his face with evidentenjoyment. As they paddled on the old ford-horse stepped out into thewater to hear him, so they stopped the canoe and went ashore to pull himout his hay. He followed them for nearly half-a-mile, and they lostsight of him at last as they rounded the bend in the river. He wasfording his way across the huge bed of shingle, over which the yellow,rattling, foaming torrent wandered at will. The tiny canoe shotforward, borne along without an effort by the force of the stream. Withdifficulty they turned its head to zigzag round a mighty boulder, hurledfrom its mountain home by the recent convulsions.

  Even now as the river came tearing down from the heights above, it wasbringing with it tons upon tons of silt and shingle and gravel. Theroar of these stones, as they rolled over each other and crashed anddashed in the bed of the flood, was louder than the angry surges on thetempestuous shore when Edwin saw the coaster going down. The swifteddies and undertows thus created made rowing doubly dangerous, andcalled forth Whero's utmost skill.

  But the signs of desolation on the river-banks were growing fainter.Between the blackened tracts where the lightning had fired the fernbroken and storm-bent trees still lifted their leafless boughs, andshook the blue dust which weighed them down into the eyes of thetravellers.

  Here and there a few wild mountain sheep, which had strayed through thebroken fences of the run, were feeding up-wind to keep scent of danger.But other sign of life there was none, until they sighted anEnglish-built boat painfully toiling along against the force of thecurrent. They hailed it with a shout, and Edwin's heart leaped with joyas he distinguished Mr. Hirpington's well-known tones in the heartinessof the reply. "Well met, boys. Come with us."

  They were soon alongside, comparing notes and answering inquiries.Dunter, who plied the other oar, nodded significantly to Edwin. He hadencountered Ottley, and received his warning as to the depredationslikely to ensue if the ford-house were left to itself much longer. Hehad started off to find the governor.

  The good old forder was still scraping amongst the shingle, and when hesaw his master in the boat, he came plunging through the water to meethim with such vehemence he almost caused an upset. But the stairs wereclose at hand, and as Mr. Hirpington often declared, he and his oldhorse had long ago turned amphibious. They came out of the water sideby side, shaking themselves like Newfoundland dogs. It was marvellousto Mr. Hirpington to discover that his old favourite had taken no harm.

  "He is a knowing old brute," said Dunter. But when they saw the writingon the shutter, they knew where he had found a friend. The pipe-claywas
smeared by the rain, but the little that was legible "gave me aprick," said Mr. Hirpington, "I cannot well stand."

  A great deal of the mud had been washed on to Ottley's tarpaulin, whichhad been pushed aside by the fury of the storm, as Mr. Hirpington wasinclined to think. But there were footprints on the bank of mud jammingup doors and windows--recent footprints, impressed upon it since thestorm. Dunter could trace them over the broken roof. They were notEdwin's. Dunter pointed to the impression just left by his boot as theboy climbed up to them. That was conclusive.

  "If it were any poor fellow in search of food under circumstances likethese, I would not say a word," remarked Mr. Hirpington.

  Dunter found a firmer footing for himself, and getting hold of the edgeof the sheet of iron, he forced it up, and with his master's helpdislodged a half-ton weight of mud, which went down into the river witha mighty splash. To escape from the shower-bath, which deluged boththem and the roof, the three jumped down into the great farm kitchen.There all was slime, and a sulphurous stench vitiated the atmosphere.

  "We can't breathe here," said Mr. Hirpington, seizing Edwin's arm andmounting him on the dining-table.

  The muddy slush into which they had plunged was almost level with itstop. The door into the bedroom was wrenched off, and lodged against it,forming a kind of bridge over the mud. But there was one thing whichthe earthquake, the mud, and the storm could never have effected. Theycould not have filled the sacks lying on the other end of the longtables. That could only have been done by human hands.

  They were all three on the table now. Mr. Hirpington untied the nearestsack, and pushed his arm inside.

  "Some of our good Christchurch blankets and my best coat," he muttered."I have no need to make them in a worse state with my muddy hands.Leave them where they are for the present," he continued, turning toDunter, who began to empty out the contents of the other sacks.

  Mr. Hirpington looked about for his gun. It was in its old place, lyingacross the boar's tusks, fixed like pegs against the opposite wall. Itwas double-barrelled, and he knew he had left it loaded for the night asusual.

  "You must get that down, Dunter," he said, "and mount guard here, whilstI take young Lee back to his father. That must be the first concern.When I return we must set to work in earnest--bail out this slush, mendthe roof over the bedroom to the river, where it is least damaged, andlive in it whilst we clear the rest. Light and air are to be had therestill, for the windows on that side are clear. More's the pity we didnot stay there. But when that awful explosion came, my wife and Irushed into the kitchen, and so did most of the men. I was tugging atthe outer door, which would not open, and 'cooing' with all my might,when the crash came, and I knew no more until I found myself in theboat."

  "I was a prisoner in my little den," put in Dunter; "and I kept up the'coo' till Mr. Lee came, for I could not open door or window though Iheard your groans."

  "Yes, Lee must be our first care. We owe our lives to him alone;understand that, all of you. He had us out before anybody elsearrived," Mr. Hirpington went on, as he heaved up the fallen door andmade a bridge with it from the table to the back of the substantialsofa, over which his gun was lying. From such a mount he could reach iteasily. Was there anything else they required? He looked around him.Dunter had got possession of a boat-hook, and was fishing among thekettles and saucepans under the dresser. The bacon, which had beendrying on the rack laid across the beams of the unceiled roof, had allgone down into the mud; but the solid beams themselves had not givenway, only the ties were dislodged and broken, with the iron covering.All the crockery on the shelves of course was smashed. A flying dishhad struck Mrs. Hirpington on the head and laid her senseless before therain of mud began. But her husband had more to do now than to recountthe how and the why of their disaster.

  He was hastily gathering together such things within reach as might bemost needed by the sufferer on the hills. A kettle and a pan and a bigcooking-spoon, which Dunter had fished out, were tied up in theChristchurch blanket dislodged from the sack, and slung across Mr.Hirpington's shoulder. Dunter made his way into the bedroom, and pulledout a couple of pillows. Here, he asserted, some one must have beenbefore him; for muddy footsteps had left their mark on the top of thechest of drawers and across the bed-quilt, and no mud had entered thereere the Hirpingtons fled. Yet muddy fingers had left their impress highup on wardrobe-doors and on window-curtains, which had been drawn backto admit the light. Over this room the roof had not given way. Theinference was clear--some one had entered it.

  Mr. Hirpington glanced up from the bundle he was tying, and spoke asideto Edwin: "You knew the man Ottley surprised in the house?"

  "Yes," answered Edwin; "he was one of the rabbiters. I thought he waslooking for food, as we were. Mr. Ottley did not say anything to meabout his suspicions. Somebody else may have got in since then, Mr.Hirpington."

  "Certainly, certainly," was the answer, and the three emerged again intodaylight.

  As they stood upon the roof shaking and scraping the mud from eachother, Edwin looked round for Whero.

  "Whoever filled these sacks," observed Mr. Hirpington, when he was alonewith Dunter, "means to come back and fetch them. Be on the watch, for Imust leave you here alone."

  Dunter was no stranger to the Maori boy, and invited him to share in thegood things he was unloading from the boat, thinking to secure himself acompanion. Whilst he was talking of pork-pies and cheese, Edwinsuggested the loan of a spade and a pail.

  "A' right!" exclaimed Whero, with a nod of intelligence; "I'll haveboth."

  "Ay, take all," laughed Edwin, as he ran down the boating-stairs afterMr. Hirpington, who was impatient to be off. Whero followed his friendto the water's edge to rub noses ere they parted. The grimaces withwhich Edwin received this final token of affection left Dunter shakingwith laughter.

  "I go to dig by the white pines," said Whero.

  "But you will come back to the hill of Hepe. We shall have food enoughfor us all," returned Edwin, pointing to the boat in which Mr.Hirpington was already seated.