*CHAPTER IX.*
*NOTHING TO EAT.*
As the shock of the earthquake subsided, and Beauty rallied from histerror, his pace began to slacken. If Edwin had not tied himself andCuthbert so securely in the cart, they might have been thrown out whenBeauty ran away. So the knots which would not be untied proved theirprotection; and now they found themselves trotting leisurely throughverdant stretches, dotted with ti tree and blue-gum, and overgrown withtoi and flax and rushes. Before them rose the great gates of the avenueleading to the central station-house. The white front of Feltham'smansion gleamed through the tall stems of the trees which surrounded it;whilst beyond and around them were the sheds and walls, the pools andbridges, comprising stock-yards and shearing-places, where thousands ofwild cattle and tens of thousands of wilder sheep were washed anddipped, and counted and branded, year after year.
The ingenious arrangement of pool and paddock and pen by which thisgigantic undertaking is safely accomplished looked to the boys like awooden village.
Beauty drew up at the friendly gate of his own accord, attracted by thewelcome sounds of human life as stockmen and shepherds hurried out totheir morning work. Half the hands were off to the hills; the remaininghalf found in consequence the more to do. The poor terrified cattle hadsuffered considerably. Sheep were cast in every ditch. Cows had goredeach other in their mad terror; and broken fences told of wild leaps andescaped bulls to be sought for in the neighbouring bush.
The boundary rider, whose sole duty is to parade the vast domain andgive notice at headquarters of unwary gaps and strays, had been spurringhither and thither, delayed by the gloom of the morning and the herds ofwild bulls which had broken in, while the tame had broken out. Withdemolished fences, and frightened sheep dying around them by hundreds,the little fugitives in Oscott's hut had been forgotten.
But when the boundary rider saw a cart at his master's gate, blue withvolcanic mud above, and dripping from below with the slime of the sea,he thought of the family from the hills waiting somewhere for thebreakfast he was to have carried in his saddle-bag. His circuit was buthalf completed. "I shall find them yet," he said to himself, as hegalloped up behind the cart. He saw the dangling rope, and the whitefaces of the two boys huddled together in a state of completeexhaustion. He tied his horse to the gate, and jumping into the cart,rattled Beauty up the avenue to his master's door, which stood wide opento all comers. For every hour brought fresh rumours, and fresh partiesof fugitives who had fled precipitately from their homes when the stormof mud began.
He took his knife from his pocket and cut the rope which tied Edwin andhis brother to the cart. Some one ran out with a cup of coffee, which hepoured down their throats, and then the boys began to revive. He wantedto take them in-doors and put them to bed. But the relief-party hadalready sent down so many sufferers from the hills every bed was full ofchildren, women, and even men, who had been dug out of the muddy streamin which they were suffocating.
As soon as Edwin could speak, he added his story to the others,entreating the men who turned their heads to listen, as they hurried inand out, to send some food to his sisters, who were left alone inOscott's hut. As for the sailors, the feeling among Feltham's peoplewas decided: any one not from the hills must be left to take care ofhimself.
Just then a horseman, covered with mud and foam, came spurring towardsthe house, shouting to the crowd around the door,--
"I've come for every man on the ground, by the master's orders. Leaveeverything. Bring your spades, and follow me. The nearer we get toTarawera the thicker lies the mud. Our government station at Rotorua isburied beneath it, church and all. Te Ariki and Maura are nowhere to beseen. The low whares in the Maori pahs are utterly destroyed. Whereverthe roofs have been strong enough to uphold the weight of the fallingmud, the inhabitants are alive beneath them now. Come to therescue--come!"
The last hoarse words were scarcely audible. The boundary rider tookthe unfinished cup from Edwin's lips and passed it to the man, and theboy was glad that he did so.
A cry of "Spades! spades!" rang through the increasing group oflisteners, which seemed to gather and disperse with equal rapidity.Mrs. Feltham made her way through the midst to the bell-tower, and ranga frantic peal to call all hands together. Horses were saddling; menwere mounting; others were hurrying up to learn the meaning of the hastysummons. Edwin drew his cart aside under the trees to watch thedeparture.
Mrs. Feltham reappeared on her doorstep with knife and loaf, trying tofill every pocket with bread before each one rode off. She could notmake her intention understood. The men, in their impatience to be gone,would hardly stop to take it.
"Oh," thought Edwin, "they forget they will want it all to give away."
He leaned over his brother. "Cuth, take the reins." But Cuth's numbedhands let them drop. Edwin twisted them round his arm, and with a nodand a smile made his way to Mrs. Feltham.
His voice was so weak and faint she could not hear what he said, but theready hand was offering to pass on the great hunches of bread she wascutting, and she kept him at work, little dreaming how he had to turnhis head away again and again to resist the impulse to take a bite bythe way. As he took the last crust from her, and saw that it was thelast, a sudden faintness overcame him, and he dropped on the stones ather feet.
"I am so very, very hungry," he said piteously.
"Why did not you tell me that before the basket was empty?" sheretorted. "You must remember, my boy, every bit of food for man andbeast must be buried under this dreadful mud for miles and miles. I mayhave a famishing army round me before night, and how am I to feed themall? Not a crumb must be wasted. If you are so hungry, go into thekitchen and clear up the scraps on the men's plates. I would turn allthe flour in the granary into bread, and feed you every one, if I hadonly hands to make it and bake it. Stop," she went on; "though you area boy you could be of some use. You could wash and boil a copperful ofpotatoes and pumpkins; that would be something to set before thestarving cart-loads I hope and trust they will be successful in saving."
"No, ma'am," answered Edwin. "I must go back to my sisters. I haveleft them alone with a lot of rough sailors."
His "no" was round and resolute.
She took out her purse, saying almost coaxingly, "Here is a week's wagefor a day's work."
"I am very sorry, Mrs. Feltham, but I really can't stay," he persisted.
She turned away with an impatient gesture and went in-doors.
"She takes me for some unlucky beggar," thought Edwin, crawling round tothe kitchen door, glad to avail himself of the somewhat ungraciouspermission to look out for the scraps. "It is dog's fare," thoughtEdwin, "but it is more to me than her gold." He found a piece ofnewspaper, and walked round and round the long breakfast-table,collecting into it such morsels as he could find. Of most of the dishesthe hungry young shepherds had made a clean sweep. Still there were someunfinished crusts of bread, a corner of Melton pie, a rasher of baconburned in the grilling. On the dresser he discovered a bone of mutton,evidently laid aside for the hounds. He would not touch the sugar inthe basin, or take a peep at the contents of the cupboards, feelinghimself on his honour. The sounds within convinced him Mrs. Feltham andthe rest of her household were hard at work transforming the hospitablemansion into a temporary hospital, for the reception of the poorunfortunates who might be dug out alive but scarcely uninjured.
"O Cuth, we haven't been the worst off by a long way!" exclaimed Edwinsuddenly, as the brothers sat together in their cart, enjoying theirbone of mutton, quite in the doggie line, but, as Cuthbert averred,feeling themselves, as they ate, like new-made men.
Then they turned Beauty homewards. Yes, that queer little shanty was akind of home. It was still dark as in a London fog, but the shocks ofearthquake were less, fainter and farther apart.
Half-way down the road they met the party of sailors, walking barefooton the edge of the grass. They did n
ot recognize the boys, but stoppedto ask the way to the central station.
"We have just been there to beg for food," said Edwin, feeling it quite"infra dig" to acknowledge the condition in which they reached Mrs.Feltham's gate. "But," he added drearily, "we could not get it. Notenough for you all."
Then he hurried on to explain the tidings from the hills and the generalstampede to the rescue.
"Turn back," urged the captain, "and give us a lift."
"Lend us the cart," added Arthur Bowen. "If any harm should come to it,grandfather will pay you for it; and as for the horse, he will get agood feed of corn in Feltham's stable. I will see after him."
Edwin was not sure he ought to trust the horse and cart with strangers,but the prospect of a good feed of corn for Beauty went a long way; forhe had nothing for the horse to eat but the winter grass around the hut.Down he jumped.
"If there are so many men at this station," the sailors were saying,"maybe they can find us an old pair of shoes; and if strong arms are inrequest, we are ready to take our turn."
They shook hands all round.
"Good-bye, my lads, good-bye. It was a brave act to back that cart intothe sea, and you'll take a sailor's blessing with you to your home,wherever it is. If there is anything washed ashore from the littlecraft, you'll store it up high and dry until another coaster calls tofetch it away."
The promise was given on both sides. Edwin would find his Beauty safeat Feltham's, and the captain his wreckage piled against the back ofOscott's hut, although they might both be miles away when the two werereclaimed.
Edwin took Cuthbert's hand in his and walked on in grave silence. Onething was clear--nobody would have time or thought to care for them.They must just look out for themselves.
"It is playing at Robinson Crusoe in earnest, we four in that littlehut," said Cuthbert. "He did lots of things to make himselfcomfortable, but then he was a man."
"It won't be for long," added Edwin. "I hardly think we shall seefather to-night, but he may be back to-morrow. If we could only findsomething to eat. Whero and his mother lived on nuts and berries afterthe muru, but then it was autumn."
They sank again into silence. The barking of the boundary dog warnedthem they were near the hut, and when it died away to a low growl theydistinguished a faint, soft murmur of singing.
"Oh, hush!" they exclaimed. "Oh, listen! It is the girls; that isAudrey."
It put fresh life into the weary feet as they heard it clearer andclearer--
"Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings."
"Heaven's gate," repeated the boys: it was the only word they coulddistinguish.
"Heaven's gate. It is a word to comfort us, for that is never shut,"added Edwin, as they stumbled against an uprooted ti tree. The long,tapering stem, with its waving plume of feathery leaves, barred theirprogress. Cuth was about to climb over it, for the hard brown trunk atits base was six feet round; but Edwin ran off to examine its leafycrown, where the cabbage which gave the tree its name should lie hidden.
He parted the yard-long leaflets, and felt a something tall and crispgrowing up in their midst.
A shout of glee brought Cuth to his assistance. They pulled the pliantboughs to this side and that, and perceived what looked to them like acoil of white ribbon, as thick and as long as a man's arm. Was this thecabbage of which they had heard so much, for the sake of which thelordly tree was so often cut down and destroyed?
They tore off one of the ribbon-like flakes and tasted it.
Cuth declared it was like eating almonds, only not so hard.
"But how can we cut it without a knife?" cried Edwin, munching away atthe raw flakes in his fingers, and pronouncing them a right good feedfor them all, if they could but cut the cabbage out.
There might be a knife in the hut, who could say. Away they rushed toexplore, guided through the tangle of flax and rushes by their sisters'voices.
The girls were sitting on the bed of fern in an abandonment of despair,scarcely daring to believe their own ears when the refrain of their songwas caught up and repeated--
"With everything that pretty is, My ladies sweet, arise."
"O Edwin, Edwin!" they exclaimed. "We thought you too had vanished."
"We could not bear ourselves," said Effie, "so we took to singing. Wefeared we were left to starve on our bed of leaves, like the 'Childrenin the Wood,' and we were afraid there was not a robin redbreastanywhere here to cover us up."
"Oh, but there is a robin blackbreast," retorted Edwin; "a true-bornnative, all the fitter for the undertaker's work. Only it is not goingto be done to-night, Dame Trot." He took the wee white face between hishands, and felt so strong, so vigorous, so determined to take care of itsomehow. "I am not going away again, Effie." He pulled the newspaperparcel out of his pocket and tossed it into Audrey's lap. "Beggars'crumbs!" he laughed. But her cold, nerveless fingers seemed incapableof untwisting the paper.
"Hands were made before forks!" cried Cuthbert, pushing in between hissisters, "and I've often heard that pie-crust is made to be broken, likepromises. I can spy a bill-hook in the corner, a little too big forcutting up a pie, but just the thing to chop the cabbage out of a titree."
Edwin spun round and shouldered it in triumph.
"There goes smash to the promise: he is off again as fast as he can go.And now for the second breakage. You must not mind my dirty pads foronce, Audrey," Cuthbert went on, pulling the pie into two pieces andmaking his sisters eat.
The slender store in the newspaper would be soon exhausted. Cuthbert,like a provident commissariat officer, was anxious to make the most ofit. He laid aside the bacon to eat with Edwin's cabbage, and piled upthe mutton-bones for their solitary neighbour, the boundary dog, who,like themselves, had been breakfasting on broken promise.
Audrey had recovered herself in some measure by the time Edwin returnedwith his spoils.
"Who'll buy? who'll buy?" he shouted; "yards upon yards of vegetableribbon, white and delicate enough to make the wedding favours for thequeen of cooks."
"Oh, don't talk about cooking," put in Cuthbert; "it is so nice, let useat it as it is."
So down they sat, breaking off flake after flake until they weresatisfied. As hunger diminished speech returned, and Audrey, who hadscarcely uttered a word whilst Edwin went over all they had heard andseen at Mrs. Feltham's, became suddenly animated. A thought had struckher, but she hesitated to propose her plan too abruptly.
"Dears," she said earnestly, looking round at the other three, "fatherwill not come back to us perhaps for a day or two; it may even be aweek. Think of our own escape. Think if one of us had been buried inthat awful mud. How should we be feeling now? Whilst there is anotherlife to be saved father will not come away--no, not for our sakes, andwe must not wish that he should."
Even Effie answered, "Oh no, we must not."
"Then," continued Audrey, still more earnestly. "what are we going todo?"
"That is a poser," retorted Edwin. "The storm brought down the ti tree,and that gave us the cabbage. The gale is dying. We had better take awalk round and look about us. We may find something else. Heaven'sgate is open still, Audrey. We must bear this as patiently as we can,and help will come."
"Yes, dears," she answered, "if you can be patient here a little longer,I think there is something I can do to help us all."
"You, Audrey?" exclaimed her brothers; "you are as white as a sheet.Let us do; we are twice as strong as you are."
"Strength is not everything," she returned quietly. "There are somethings which only a girl can do. Now this is my plan. If Edwin willwalk with me to the central station, I will ask Mrs. Feltham to let mehelp her. I will go for so much a day, and then at night when she paysme I may persuade her to sell me some flour and meat and tea, foodenough for us all, dears."
"Go out like a charwoman, Audrey!" exclaimed Edwin, in amazement. "Isthat what you mean?"
"Well, yes," returned Audrey, in a considering tone,
"it certainly wouldbe the same thing, if you like to call it so."
"'Of old men called a spade a spade,'" grumbled Edwin. "I like to givethings their plain names, and then we know where we are."
"If little Mother Audrey goes out charing, Cuth will poison himself, andthen there will be no more food wanting for him. That Mrs. Felthamlooked as cross as two sticks," declared Cuthbert.
"Just listen to these proud young gentlemen," retorted Audrey. "Erne,my dear, I turn to you to support me."
"I'll do as you do," returned her little sister, laying her head on hershoulder.
"Not quite so fast, Dame Trot," interposed Edwin. "But if Audrey marcheshome at night with a bag of flour on her back, you must make it intoNorfolk dumplings. Cuthbert and I, it seems, are good for nothing butto eat them."
"You ridiculous boys, why can't you be serious?" said Audrey, adding, inan aside to Edwin, "Erne is too ill to exist on your vegetable ribbon,even if we boil it. Well, is not my plan better--"
"Than robin blackbreast and the burying business? Of course, you haveshut me up," he answered.
So the decision was reached. Audrey untied her bundle. Combs andbrushes, soap and towels, a well-worn text-book, a little box of her ownpersonal treasures, all knotted up in one of Effie's pinafores. What ahoard of comfort it represented!
"That is a notice to quit for you and me, Cuth," remarked Edwin. "We'lltake the boundary dog his bones, and accommodate our honest charwomanwith a pailful of sea-water to assist the toilet operations."
The storm had died away as suddenly as it rose, and the receding waveshad left the shelving sands strewn with its debris--uprooted trees, oldhats, and broken boards, fringed with seaweed. A coat was bobbing upand down, half in the water and half out, while floating spars told ofthe recent wreck. A keg sticking in the sand some feet below high-watermark attracted the boys' attention, for Edwin was mindful of his promiseto the sailors. As they set to work to roll it up, they came upon theoysters sticking edgeways out of the sand, and clinging in clusters tothe rocks. With a hurrah of delight they collected a goodly heap. Herewas a supper fit for a king.
Doing and Daring: A New Zealand Story Page 9