*CHAPTER XII.*
*EDWIN'S DISCOVERY.*
Edwin rubbed off the mud from the boss at the point of the gable, andgazed upon the hideous face, which was neither bird's nor man's, but thesame, the very same, which had attracted his attention when he went withNga-Hepe to his home. Edwin looked up. The words upon his lips seemedto die away in pity for the Maori boy. At last he whispered huskily,"Whero, there is something here."
"My home! my home!" was the passionate response, as Whero flung himselfacross the ridge and hugged the wooden face as if it were a livingthing.
Edwin was thinking of all Mr. Bowen's men had said: how the doors andwindows of the ford-house had been blocked by the mud with such rapiditythere was not time for Mr. Hirpington and his people to get away. Herecalled all he had ever heard or read of the frightful collieryaccidents when the miners had been entombed for days, and of cottagesburied beneath an avalanche of snow. A bitter and overwhelming feelingof self-reproach rose in his heart. "Oh, why did we linger by the wayand follow the bird? We ought to have hurried here at once. O Whero, Idid not realize, I did not half understand. Help me," Edwin went on, forWhero had begun to raise his howling dirge--"help me to make a holethrough the roof, for fear there should be anybody left inside."
"Have I come to the hot stone of my fathers to find it a place ofgraves?" groaned Whero, pausing in his wail.
"Mr. Hirpington got away in his boat; your father may have taken to hiscanoe," urged Edwin, clinging to hope to cheer his companion.
A bound, and Whero was up among the leafless boughs of the grand oldtrees which had sheltered his home.
Were the canoes gone? His eye roved along the reedy swamp for eachfamiliar mooring-place, but all was changed. Mud-banks and shoalssurrounded the murky pool, and his landmarks were gone. Yet more thanone canoe was embedded in the new-made morass, and he cried out indespair.
Meanwhile Edwin was tugging at the bulrush thatch with all his might.As the hole increased with his efforts, he caught the echo of a feeblesigh. He shouted to Whero, and tore away at the rushes with franticdesperation. A knock made answer. The wintry day was darkening to itsclose, and Edwin felt that the task was beyond him. He could not unroofthe well-built whare, with no fork to help him and single-handed.
"We must get across the bush somehow, and fetch the men we saw at workon the other side of the hill."
But nothing which Edwin could urge could induce Whero to leave the spot.He sat on the ridge of the roof with the fidelity of a dog, howling andwailing, only pausing to bury his head in the thatch to listen to thefaint and feeble sounds within. Edwin watched him breathlessly for amoment or two. They had let in the air through the hole he had made;but the brief New Zealand twilight would soon be over, and what morecould they do in the darkness of night? He sprang to his feet. "I'moff, Whero," he shouted. "Trust me, I'll never rest until I get youbetter help than mine."
He ran across the mud. It was growing harder and harder in the keenfrosty air. He knew the wind was blowing from the lake, so that if hewere careful to turn his back to the breeze, he could not lose his way.
Edwin had almost reached the hill, when he heard a voice "cooing" in thedistance. It was not Whero's. But the swift transition with which nightcomes on in New Zealand shrouded him in sudden darkness; and whilst hewaited for the rising of the stars, he heard the shouts drawing nearer,and gave the answering "coo" with all his might. He could distinguishthe echo of a horse's hoofs on the hardening ground. There was no doubtabout it now, the rider was coming fast. He shouted with renewedenergy; and then the Southern Cross shone out in all its brilliancy, andthe horseman perceived the small dark figure waving both arms in theair, and galloped towards him.
In another moment Edwin was grasping hands with his old friend thecoachman.
"What! you, my lad, up here?" exclaimed Ottley; and as Edwin answered,the sight of the prancing horse that Ottley was riding shot a painthrough his heart. It was so like his own beloved Beauty, abandoned onhis little islet in that sea of mud.
The tears came rushing into Edwin's eyes, until he could see no more.He tried to answer. The horse had turned its head to listen with quick,impatient movements, until it fairly rubbed its nose against Edwin'sshoulder.
His arms went round its arching neck with a cry of delight. It was hisown, his own, own Beauty.
"Yes," said Ottley, "I knew him again. I supposed he had strayed, for Icame upon him standing shivering against such shelter as the roots of anupturned tree could afford him. He was not difficult to catch, and hehas brought me on. I got my coach along some miles beyond Cambridge,and found the way completely blocked, so I have left it there, and cometo give what help I could. I can spare the time it would have taken meto reach the end of my route. I have been working with a party ofdiggers at Te Wairoa. Then I determined to come across and see how itfared with my old friend at the ford, and now I find you wanderingalone. Come, get up behind me. It is not the first time you and I havecrossed these wilds together."
"Oh no," answered Edwin; "and I want you worse than even then. You mustcome with me at once to the help of the Maori chief. We have found himburied alive, with his whole family, beneath this awful mud--but I thinknot yet quite dead. I feel as if God had sent you here to save them."
Then Edwin poured out his story, and explained how he had encounteredWhero, and how they had come on together to find their fathers.
Whilst he was yet speaking Ottley alighted. "Take your horse, lad," hesaid, "and ride as fast as you can; the mud will bear you now. As soonas you get to the brow of that hill, you will see the camp-fire of thediggers in the distance. Make that your guide. You will find them bythat in the night when you could not have found your way in the daylightand the dust. Trust to Beauty to avoid the boiling jets; they areopening everywhere. You can give this message from me to the firstparty of diggers you come to. Tell them I want help badly, by the lake.Be a brave lad, and remember that more lives than we can reckon aredepending on your speed."
Then Ottley took out his match-box, and sharing its contents with Edwin,charged him, if he happened to lose his way or meet with any obstacle hecould not pass, to choose a dry tree and set it on fire. "The blazewill be seen for miles through the leafless forest, and will be sure tobring you help," he added, as he put the boy on the horse and set off ata swinging pace towards the buried whare, over which the kaka was stillhovering.
The emergency was so great, Edwin felt himself beyond all personal fear,which might have daunted him at any other time had he been obliged toride alone in the night through those desolate wilds. He pattedBeauty's neck, and heartened himself up with the thought of the eternalpresence of the Unseen, ever ready, ever near to help and guide, givingstrength in weakness and light in darkness. When will, desire, andtrust meet in one point, that point is faith, the strongest power withinthe human breast. It upheld Edwin, worn and weary as he was, in thatlonely ride. He had cleared the rising ground. The camp-fire glimmeredin the distance; but Beauty, who had had neither food nor water sincethe morning, began to flag. Then Edwin remembered Ottley's charge, andlooked about for a dry tree.
He found one smouldering still, in the midst of a scorched circle--thedying remains of a bush fire, kindled by the lightning on the night ofthe eruption.
He gathered up the charred branches fallen around it, and fanned theglowing embers to a flame. One of the incessant earthquake shocksscattered his fire just as he had got it to burn. He did his work overagain. The blaze roared up into the midnight sky. He tied Beauty to atree at a little distance, and sat down before his fire, thankful forthe momentary rest. He could have fallen asleep. He was afraid that hemight do so unawares, for he felt he was succumbing to the genialwarmth. The change was too great after being exposed for so many hoursto the chill of the night, and he fainted.
When Edwin came to himself he was lying under canvas. A cup was held tohis lips by some unknown
hand, and as he tasted its warm contents, voicecame back to him. He asked feebly, "Where am I? I can't remember."
"Never mind then, my boy," said his rough nurse, in kindly tones whichwere not altogether strange. "You are with those who will take care ofyou to the last. There, sleep, and forget your troubles."
"Sleep!" repeated Edwin, starting up. "What business have I with sleepwhen Mr. Ottley sent me with a message?"
"Ottley! who is Ottley?" asked another voice.
"The coachman fellow who helped us at Te Wairoa," answered the firstspeaker.
Edwin roused himself, saying earnestly,--
"He wants you to go to his help. He wants help badly by the lake amidthe hills."
"Where is that?" asked the men of each other.
"I'll guide you," said Edwin. "I'll show you the way."
"Not you," they answered simultaneously. "You just lie here and sleepin safety. Some of the other fellows will know. That will be allright."
As they laid him back on the blanket, Edwin saw in the dim, uncertainlight the rough sleeve of a blue jacket.
"What! surprised to meet us here, my boy?" said the voice, which he nowknew to be the captain's. "Though our feet were sore with dragging overthe oyster-bed, we went back with Feltham's shepherds. When we saw yourfire flash up against the night sky, says some of the fellows, 'That isa signal,' and off they went to see, and when they brought you into campI knew you in a moment."
Edwin grasped the horny hand held out to him with a smile.
"Where is my horse?" he asked.
"Tethered outside; but there is not a bit of food to give him--no, not asingle bite. But lie still and sleep and eat yourself, and in a fewhours you will be all right."
When Edwin waked again it was daylight. A piece of camping-out breadand a cup of water stood beside him, but every man was gone.
He took the breakfast they had provided, and walked to the door of thetent eating his bread. There was no one in sight but Beauty, lookingvery wretched for want of food. Edwin broke the crumb from his piece ofbread, and carried it to him.
"We will go shares, old fellow," he said, patting him, "and then youwill carry me to father.
'What must be, must; But you shall have crumb, If I have crust.'"
He looked about the tent, and found a small pail. The hiss and splash ofbubbling water guided him to the geyser. He knew the men would not haveput up their tent unless there had been a spring at hand. He filled hispail with the boiling water, and left it to cool for Beauty's benefit.Still he thought they could not be very far off, or they would not haveleft their tent. But he was afraid to waste time looking about him.Some of the party had no doubt remained behind. He longed to follow thecaptain, and go back to Ottley and Whero, for when their work was overby the lake he knew they would help him to find his father. Edwin founda charred stick where the men had made their camp fire. He wrote withit on a piece of bark:--
"Good-bye, and thanks to all kind friends. I am going back toOttley.--EDWIN LEE."
Then he gave poor Beauty his water, and started off for the Rota Pah.He was trusting to the horse's sagacity. "If I give him the rein," hethought, "he is safe to take the road to his old home."
But no brief spell of sleep, with its blessed forgetfulness, had come toWhero. He had kept his lonely vigil on the tumbled thatch, chanting hismournful dirge until the echoes rang. There, with the starshineoverhead, and that strange cloud through which the fire still flashedrising like a wall between him and the sacred hills, he felt himselfabandoned by earth and heaven. But his despair had reached its climax.The help which Edwin had gone to seek was nearer than he thought. Along, dark shadow was thrown across the star-lit ground, and Ottleyhastened towards him, exclaiming,--
"Stop that howling. Be a man, and help me. We'll soon see if there isany one alive beneath that thatch."
He found himself a pole among the broken arms of the trees, and set towork tearing away the thatch until the starlight waned, and the darkesthour of all the night put a stop to his efforts.
But in many places the roof was stripped to its rafters, so that thecold night breeze could enter freely. Whero was gathering the heaps ofdusty rush which Ottley had flung off to make a fire. The cheery flamesleaped upward, but were far too evanescent to do more than give aglimpse into the interior of the whare. But Ottley saw something in thedark corner of the room like a white dress, fluttering in the admittedgust. Could it be the thin white sheet in which Kakiki had chosen todisguise himself?
Brief as the blaze had been, it had served as a beacon to guide thecaptain and his mates to the spot with their spades and bill-hooks. Tochop away the beam, to build a more substantial fire with the splinteredwood, was easy now. Whero leaped through the hole, and reappeared withhis mother in his arms. The captain swung himself down after him,directed by Ottley to "that something white in the corner." He draggedit forward--a senseless burden. A spade full of ice from above wasdashed into the unconscious face of the aged chieftain resting on hisshoulder. As Kakiki Mahane opened his eyes, the first thing he saw wasthe well-remembered face of Ottley looking down upon him, and the firstthing he heard was the heartfelt murmur which ran through the littlegroup above, "In time! thank God, in time!"
Doing and Daring: A New Zealand Story Page 12