*CHAPTER XIV.*
*RAIN AND FLOOD.*
Edwin felt a cold shiver run over him as Lawford made this announcement.
"Something to tell me!" he exclaimed. "Oh, please speak out!"
"Do you see those spades?" replied Lawford, halting beside a tree,against which two spades were leaning. "Whero has sent them to you. Hewants you to show me where he buried that bag of treasure. I am to digit up and take it to Nga-Hepe. He means to use it now to buy food forthe people about him. You know the place: it is between the two whitepines by the roadside. As soon as Nga-Hepe has got his money, he willrow down the river in his canoe and bring it back with a load of baconand flour, and whatever he can get in the nearest township."
This seemed so natural to Edwin he never doubted it was true. Therewere the spades, just like the two he had seen in the whare.
"Oh yes," he answered, "I can find the place. I saw the trees onlyyesterday."
"Nga-Hepe sent you a charge," added Lawford, "to mind and keep a stilltongue; for if it gets air whilst he's gone for the food, there will besuch a crowd waiting for the return of the canoe, it would be eaten upat a single meal, and his own children would be starving again."
"I shall not speak," retorted Edwin. "Nga-Hepe may safely trust me."
They reached the road at last, and made their way along it as before,until they came to the two tall tapering trunks--not quite so easilyidentified now they had lost their foliage.
"This is the spot!" cried Edwin, slipping off the horse, and receiving adescent of mud upon his shoulders as he struck the dirt-laden tree.
Lawford gave him the spades he was carrying, and got down. They tiedBeauty at a safe distance, and set to work. It was comparatively easydigging through the crust, but when they reached the soft mud beneathit, as soon as they cleared a hole it filled again.
Their task seemed endless. "I don't believe we can get at the money,"said Edwin, in despair. "I must go on and see if Mr. Hirpington hasreturned, for I want to get back to father."
"All right," answered Lawford. "Leave me at the work. A boy like yousoon tires. Take your horse and ride down to the ford; but mind you donot say anything about me."
"You need not fear that," repeated Edwin, as he extricated himself fromthe slime-pit they had opened, and mounted Beauty. It was not very farto the ford, but he found it as he had left it--desolate and deserted.No one had been near it since yesterday, when he visited it with Ottley.The good old forder neighed a welcome, and came trotting up from theriver-bank to greet him. He pulled out more hay to feed both horses,and whilst they were eating he examined the house.
The river was swollen with last night's rain. It had risen to the topof the boating-stairs. Once more the house was standing in a muddyswamp, from which the tall fuchsia trees looked down disconsolate on theburied garden. It was past anybody's power to get at the store-roomwindow. In short, the river had taken possession, and would effectuallykeep out all other intruders.
Edwin chose himself a seat among the ruins, and turned out his pocketsin quest of a little bit of pipe-clay which once found a lodging amongsttheir heterogeneous contents. He wrote with the remaining corner, whichhe was happy enough to find had not yet crumbled to dust, "Lee, senior,waiting by lake, badly hurt, wants food and help."
He had fixed upon the shutter of the hay-loft window for his tablet, andmade his letters bold and big enough to strike the eye at a considerabledistance. He tried to make them look as if some man had written them,thinking they would command more attention. Then he hunted about forthe piece of loose board Hal had charged them to bring back.
Edwin wrenched it off from the front of the hayloft, and discovered aheap of mangel-wurzel in the corner. He snatched up one and began toeat it, as if he were a sheep, and then wondered if he had done right.But he felt sure Ottley would say yes.
He balanced the board on his head, but found it impossible to mountBeauty, and equally difficult to make him follow a master with head-gearof such an extraordinary size. So he had to drive Beauty on before him,and when he reached the white pines Lawford was gone.
"He ought to have waited for me," thought Edwin, indignantly. "How canI get across the bush with this board? The men care nothing about me;they drive me along or they leave me behind to follow as I can, just asit happens. It is too bad, a great deal too bad!"
Beauty heard the despairing tone, and turning softly round, tilted theboard backwards in spite of Edwin's efforts to stop him.
There was no such thing as getting it into position again. All Edwincould do was to mark the spot and leave it lying on the ground. Then hejumped on Beauty and trotted off to the tent, for the rain which Hal hadpredicted was beginning fast. The sodden canvas flapped heavily in thestorm-wind. The tent-poles were loosened in the softened mud, andseemed ready to fall with every gust, as Edwin rode up disheartened andweary, expecting to find Lawford had arrived before him. No such thing.Hal was worn out with waiting, and was very cross.
It is only the few who can stand through such days of repeated disasterwith patience and temper unexhausted. There has been some schooling inadversity before men attain to that. Edwin was taking his lesson earlyin life, but he had not learned it yet.
Hal would have it Edwin had lost himself, and called him a young foolfor not sticking close to his companion, who was no doubt looking forhim.
He started off in high dudgeon to "coo" for Lawford, and bring on theboard Edwin had left by the way.
Father and son were alone. The rain pouring through the tent seemed torouse Mr. Lee to consciousness.
"I am hurt, Edwin," he said; "yet not so much as they think. But isthere not any place of shelter near we can crawl into? This rain willdo me more harm than the fall of the tree. If this state of thingscontinues, we shall be washed away into the mud."
Edwin's heart was aching sorely when Hal returned with the board. Mr.Lee looked up with eyes which told them plainly the cloudedunderstanding was regaining its power.
The old man saw it with pleasure, He knew even better than Mr. Lee thatthe steady rain was changing the mud to swamp. They must lose no timein getting away, at least to firmer ground.
He was looking about him for the nearest hill. He had made his plan; buthe wanted Lawford's help to carry it out.
"He will come back soon," said Edwin confidently, feeling pretty sureLawford had gone across to the lake to give Nga-Hepe his bag.
Hal was more puzzled than ever at his mate's disappearance, and again hewanted to know why the two had parted company. Edwin was so downheartedabout his father, and so badgered by Hal's questionings and upbraidings,he knew not what to say or do.
Hal wrapped Mr. Lee in the blanket, and with Edwin's assistance laid himon the board. It was a little less wet than the sodden ground. Hebound him to it with the cord which had tied up Beauty's hay.
"There," he said, as he pulled the last knot tight, "we can lift you nowwithout upsetting my splints. They are but a bungling affair, master;but bad is the best with us."
Try as Edwin would he was not strong enough to lift the board from theground. The old man saw it too, and pushed him aside impatiently.
"See what you have brought on us all," he said, or rather muttered.
"I could not help it," repeated Edwin bitterly; "but I don't mindanything you say to me, Hal, for you have stuck by father and cared forhim, when he would have died but for you. Don't despair; I'll go andlook for Lawford."
"You!" returned Hal contemptuously; "you'll lose yourself."
But Edwin, who thought he could guess where Lawford was to be found,could not be turned from his purpose.
"Can't I cross the bush once more, for father's sake," he asked, "whilstI have got my horse?" He called up Beauty and told him to go home. Edwinfound the whare by the lake deserted. After his abrupt departure withOttley, Nga-Hepe had roused himself to assist his father-in-law inmaking an equal distribution of the
food; and then they gathered the menaround the fire and held a council.
With two such leaders as Nga-Hepe and Kakiki, they reached the wisedecision to seek a safer place beyond the anger of the gods, and build atemporary kainga, or unwalled village, where food was to be obtained,where the fern still curled above the ground, and the water gushed purefrom the spring. The men of the pah yielded as they listened to theeloquent words of the aged chief; and though they passed the night inspeechifying until the malcontents were overawed, the morning found themhard at work digging out their canoes.
As Edwin approached the lake he saw the little fleet cautiously steeringits way through the mud-shoals and boulders towards the river.
The wind was moaning through the trees, and the unroofed whare wasfilling with the rains.
While Edwin surveyed the desolate scene, he perceived a small canoecoming swiftly towards his side of the lake. He watched it run agroundamongst the bent and broken reeds, swaying hither and thither in thestormy wind. Suddenly he observed a small, slight figure wadingknee-deep through the sticky slime. It was coming towards him.
A bird flew off from its shoulder, and the never-to-be-forgotten soundof "Hoke" rang through the air.
"Whero, Whero!" shouted Edwin joyfully; and turning Beauty's head hewent to meet him.
But Whero waved him back imperiously; for he knew the horse could findno foothold in the quagmire he was crossing. He was leaping now like afrog, as Edwin averred; but there are no frogs in New Zealand, so Wherocould not understand the allusion as Edwin held out his hand to help himon. Then the kaka, shaking the water from his dripping wings, flewtowards Edwin and settled on his wrist with a joyous cry of recognition.
"Take him," gasped Whero; "keep him as you have kept my Beauty. Theungrateful pigs were to kill him--to kill and eat my precious redbreast;but he soared into the air at my call, and they could not catch him."
Edwin's boyish sympathies were all ablaze for his outraged friend. "Isthat their Maori gratitude," he exclaimed, "when it was your kaka whichguided me to the spot?"
"When I told them so," sobbed Whero, "they laughed, and said, 'We willstick his feathers in our hair by way of remembrance.' They shall nothave him or his feathers. They shall eat me first. I will take himback to the hill which no man cares to climb. I will live with deadmen's bones and despise their tapu; but no man shall eat my kaka."
During the outpouring of Whero's wrath, Edwin had small chance ofgetting an answer to his anxious question. "Are not those your peoplerowing across the lake? Is Lawford with them? Did he bring the bag toyour father all right?"
Whero looked at him incredulously. Edwin waved his hand, and the Maoriboy leaped up for once behind him. He took the kaka from Edwin's wristand hugged it fondly whilst he listened to his explanations aboutLawford.
"It was I," interposed Whero, "who was staying behind to dig up the bagby the white pines. Did my father think I would not go when I ran offto call away my kaka? Where could he meet this pakeha and I not know,that he should trust him to look for his hoard? as if any one beside meor my mother could find it. Kito!" (lies.)
But the pelting rain cut short his wonder, as Edwin urged everythingelse must give way to the pressing necessity of finding some bettershelter for Mr. Lee. It was useless to look for Lawford any longer.
"You will help me, Whero?" entreated Edwin earnestly, as they turned thehorse's head towards the small brown tent. It was lying flat, blowndown by the wind in their absence. Hal had folded up the canvas, andwas pacing up and down in a very dismal fashion.
"Father," said Edwin, springing to the ground, "I can't find Lawford;but this Maori boy was going to a sheltered place high up in the hills.Will you let us carry you there?"
"Anywhere, anywhere, out of this pond," replied Mr. Lee.
"Have at it then!" cried Whero, seizing hold of the board; but Halcalled out to them to stay a bit. By his direction they lifted Mr. Leeon his board and laid it along the stout canvas. Hal tied up the endswith the tent ropes, so that they could carry Mr. Lee between them,slung, as it were, in a hammock. Hal supported his head, and the twoboys his feet.
It was a slow progression. Whero led them round to another part of thehill, where an ancient fissure in its rugged side offered a more gradualascent. It was a stairway of nature's making, between two walls ofrock. Stones were lying about the foot, looking as if they might havebeen hurled from above on the head of some reckless invader in the olddays of tribal violence.
Edwin had well named it an ogre's castle. It was a mountain fastness inevery sense, abandoned and decayed. As they gained the summit, Edwincould see how the hand of man had added to its natural strength. Pilesof stones still guarded the stairway from above, narrowing it until twocould scarcely walk abreast, and they lay there still, a ready heap ofammunition, piled by the warrior hands sleeping in Tarawera.
Whero sent his kaka on before him. "See," he exclaimed to Edwin, "thebird flies fearless over the blighted ground, and you came back to meunharmed. I will conquer terror by your side, and take possession of myown. Who should live upon the hill of Hepe but his heir! Am I not lordand first-born? Count off the moons quickly when I shall carry thegreenstone club, and make the name of Hepe famous among the tribes, asmy mother said. This shall be my home, and my kaka shall live in it."
They were trampling through the dry brown fern on the hill-top, and hereWhero would willingly have bivouacked. But Hal, who knew nothing of thetraditionary horrors which clung to the spot, pushed on to the shelterwithin the colonnade. No tent was needed here. They laid theirhelpless burden on the ground and stretched their cramped arms. Whero'stall talk brought an odd twinkle of amusement into the corner of Hal'sgray eye as he glanced around him humorously. "It is my lord baron, aswe say in England, then," he answered, with a nod to Whero: "but itlooks like my barren lord up here." Whero did not understand the oldman's little joke, and Edwin busied himself with his father.
Whero descended the hill again and fetched up Beauty, who was as experta climber as his former owner, and neighed with delight when he foundhimself once more amid the rustling fern. Dry and withered as Edwin hadthought it, to Beauty it was associated with all the joys of early days,when he trotted a graceful foal by his mother's side. Like Whero, hewas in his native element.
The proud boy rolled a big stone across the end of the path by whichthey had climbed up, and then feeling himself secure, began to execute akind of war-dance.
"Stop your antics," said Hal, cowering against the gigantic trunk whichwas sheltering Mr. Lee from the keen winds, "and tell us what thatmeans." He pointed to a huge white thing towering high above his head,with open beak and outstretched claw--a giant, wingless bird, its drybones rattling with every gust.
"It is a skeleton," said Edwin, walking nearer to it to take off thecreepy feeling it awakened.
"It is a moa," said Whero, continuing his dance--"the big old bird whichused to build among these hills until my forefathers ate him up. Theyhad little to eat but the fern, the shark, and the moa, until the pakehacame with his pigs and his sheep. There may be one alive in the heightsof Mount Cook, but we often find their skeletons in desolate places."Then Whero went up close to the quivering bones, and cried out withexultation when he discovered the hole in its breast through which thespear of the Hepe had transfixed this ancient denizen of his fortress.
"It is an unked place," muttered Hal, "but dry to the feet."
He lit his pipe, and settled himself on the roots of the tree for asmoke and a sleep. He had been existing for so many days in the midstof the stifling clouds of volcanic dust and the choking vapours from theground, through which chloride of iron gas was constantly escaping for aspace of fifty-six miles, that the purer air to which they had ascendedseemed like life, and robbed the place of its habitual gloom.
Even Whero, with the Maori's reverential horror of a dead man's bones,coiled himself to sleep in the rustling fern by Beauty's side, his dreamof future greatness undistur
bed by the rattling bones of the moa, andthe still more startling debris which whitened amidst the gnarled andtwisted roots.
But it was not so with Edwin. He sat beside his father, feeding himwith the undiluted bovril--for water failed them on the rockyheight--and wondering how long the slender store would last. He refusedhimself the smallest taste, and bore his hunger without complaint,hiding the little jar with scrupulous care, for fear Whero should findit and be tempted to eat up the remainder of its contents. So he kepthis silent vigil. The storm-clouds cleared, and the grandeur of theview upon which he gazed banished every other thought. He could lookdown upon the veil of mist which had hidden the sacred mountains, andTarawera rose before him in all its grandeur. He saw the awful rentwhich had opened in the side of the central peak, and from which hugecolumns of smoke and steam were fitfully ascending. He watched theleaping tongues of flame dart up like rockets to the midnight sky, oncemore ablaze with starshine, and a feeling to which he could give noexpression seemed to lift him beyond the present,--"Man does not live bybread alone."
Doing and Daring: A New Zealand Story Page 14