Doing and Daring: A New Zealand Story

by Mary Hazelton Blanchard Wade

  *CHAPTER XVIII.*

  *WHERO TO THE RESCUE.*

  The busy sounds of trampling feet, the many voices breaking the silenceof the past days, roused Edwin effectually, and then he discovered thatthe door of the room in which he had slept resisted his most strenuousefforts to open it.

  He called to Dunter to release him. No reply. A louder shout,accompanied by a sturdy kick at the immovable door, gave notice of hisgrowing impatience. The kaka, which had been watching his determinedefforts with exceeding interest, set up its cry of "Hoke, hoke!"

  "We are caged, my bird," said Edwin; "both of us caged completely."

  His eye wandered round in search of any outlet in vain. All hisexperiences since the night of the eruption had taught him to look tohimself, and he turned to the window. It was securely shuttered andapparently barred.

  "How strange!" he thought, as a sudden shock of earthquake made the ironwalls around him rattle and vibrate, as if they too were groaning insympathetic fear.

  The kaka flew to him for protection, and strove to hide its head.Another tremor all around sent it cowering to the floor. Edwin stoopedto pick it up, and saw that the thin sheet of iron which formed thepartition between that room and the next had started forward. He foundthe knife which Dunter had left him, and widened the crack. He couldslip his hand through it now. The walls were already twisted with theshocks they had sustained. He got hold of the iron with both hands, andexerting all his strength bent it up from the floor. His head wentthrough. Another vigorous tug, another inch was gained; his shouldersfollowed, and he wriggled through at last in first-rate worm fashion.

  "It is something to be thin," thought Edwin, as he shook himself intoorder on the other side. He was in another bedroom, exactly similar tothe one he had left. Both were designed for the reception of "thecoach;" but door and window were securely fastened, as in the otherroom. The sounds which had awakened him must have been the noiseaccompanying some departure, for he thought he could distinguish thesplash of oars in the water, and words of leave-taking. But the voiceswere strange voices, which he had never heard before, and then all wasprofoundly still.

  It dawned on Edwin now that perhaps he had not been shut in by accident,but that something had occurred. He was getting very near the truth,for he recalled Nga-Hepe's threats, and wondered whether friend or foehad made him a prisoner.

  Well, then, was it wise to keep making such a row to get out? He beganto see the matter in a different light. He lay down on the bed in thesecond room, determined to listen and watch; but in his worn-outcondition sleep overcame him a second time.

  The kaka missed his society, and followed to perch on his pillow. Hewas awakened at last by its scream. The window was open, and the birdwas fluttering in and out in a playful endeavour to elude a hand putthrough to catch it. Edwin was springing upright, when his recentexperiences reminded him of the need of caution. But the movement hadbeen heard, and a voice, which he knew to be Whero's, said softly,"Edwin, my brother, are you awake?"

  "Awake? yes! What on earth is the matter?" retorted Edwin.

  "Hush!" answered Whero, looking in and laying a finger on his own lips."Come close to the window."

  Edwin obeyed as noiselessly as he could. Whero held out his hand tohelp him on to the sill.

  "Escape," he whispered; "it is for your life."

  His hands were as cold as ice, and his teeth were set. Edwin hesitated;but the look on Whero's face as he entreated him not to lingerfrightened him, already wrought up to a most unnatural state ofsuspicion by the tormenting feeling of being shut in against his will.

  Any way, he was not going to lose a chance of getting out. It was toounbearable to be caged like a bird. He took Whero's hand and scrambledup. The Maori boy looked carefully around. All was dark and still.Again he laid his finger on his lips.

  "Trust in me, my brother," he murmured, pointing to his canoe, which waswaiting in the shadow of the rushes.

  "Where are we going?" asked Edwin under his breath.

  "To safety," answered Whero. "Wait until we are out of hearing, and Iwill tell you all."

  He grasped Edwin's hand, and led him down the bank to the shingly bed ofthe river.

  "Stop a minute," interposed Edwin, not quite sure that it was wise totrust himself altogether to the guidance of the young Maori. "I wish Icould catch sight of Dunter. I want a word with him, and then I'll go."

  "No, no!" reiterated Whero, dragging him on as he whispered, "No onehere knows your danger. It is my father who is coming to take yourlife; but I will save you. Come!"

  Edwin lay down in the bottom of the canoe as Whero desired, and wasquickly covered over with rushes by the dusky hands of his youthfuldeliverer. A low call brought the kaka to Whero's shoulder, and keepinghis canoe well in the shadows, he rowed swiftly down stream.

  ANOTHER FLIGHT.]

  The brilliant starshine enabled him to steer clear of the floatingdangers--the driftwood and the stones--which impeded their coursecontinually.

  "Are you hungry?" asked Whero, bending low to his companion. But Edwinanswered, "No."

  "Then listen," continued the excited boy. "My father has found thisLawford, the rabbiter you told me about. He was with one of the biggestgangs of pakehas, going back from the hills, every man with his spade.Had my father raised his club, it would have been quickly beaten out ofhis hand among so many. He knew that, and the pakehas talked fair. Butthis Lawford did not say as you say. He made my father believe it wasyou who asked him to go with you to the roadside, and dig between thewhite pines, to find a bag you had dropped in the mud; and so he dugdown until you found it and took it away. You then went alone to theruins at the ford, and he thinks you hid it in the hayloft. It wasbefore the fordmaster and his people had returned. My father wantedthese pakehas to come with him, and take it from you; but they alldeclared that was against the law of the pakehas. They would go theirways and tell their chief, who would send his soldiers for you. It wasbut a bag of talk. My father has been watching round the ford, waitingfor them, yet they have not come."

  "But, Whero," interposed Edwin, "Nga-Hepe cannot be sure that I was atthe ford, for it was at the valley farm that he met me and took thehorse."

  "Does my father sleep on the track of an enemy?" asked Whero. "Has heno one to help him? My grandfather was following in the bush when hetook the horse from you. The one went after Lawford, the other stayedto watch your steps. My grandfather saw you enter the ford; he saw themaster leave it alone. A Maori eye has been upon the place ever since.They know you have not come out of the hole where you went in. Nothinghas been done. What were the fordmaster's promises? what were Lawford's?A bag of talk. My father feels himself the dupe of the pakeha. Ageyser is boiling in his veins. If you meet him you fall by his club.He will wait until the day breaks; he will wait no longer. At nightfallthe old man, my grandfather, rowed back to the little kainga our peoplehave made on the bank of the river."

  "A kainga?" interrupted Edwin, breathlessly. "What is a kainga?"

  "That is our name for a little village without a wall," explained Whero,hurrying on. "He came. He called the men together. They have gone upwith clubs and spears. They will come upon the ford-house with thedawn, and force their way in to find the bag. The master cannot resistso many. O Edwin, my brother, I said I saved my kaka when they wouldhave killed it; shall I not save my friend? I wanted to go with the men,that I might tell my father again how you have stood by me. And shouldI not stand by you? But my mother, Marileha, held me back. Mygrandfather kept on saying, 'I knew from the first it was the farmer'sson who had robbed you. Was it he who helped us out of the mud? I sawhim not. It was Ottley, the good coachman. Have we not all eyes?' 'Gonot with them,' said my mother. 'What is talk? Your father will makeyou the same answer. Do they know the young pakeha as we do?' So Ilistened to my mother, and we made our plan together. I knew our mencould not conceal themselves in the wat
er; they must all be hidden inthe bush. I filled my canoe with rushes. I rowed after them up theriver, gliding along in the shadows. I climbed up the bank, under therow of little windows at the back of the ford-house, and listened. Iheard my kaka scream, and I guessed it was with you. I was sure youwould take care of it. I could see the windows were all cracked andbroken with the earthquakes. The shocks come still so often I knew Ihad only to wait, and when I felt the ground tremble under my feet Ismashed the window. Nobody noticed the noise when everything around uswas rocking and shaking. You know the rest. We have an hour before usyet. I am rowing for the coast as hard as I can. Once on board asteamer no Maori can touch you. I have plenty of money to pay for ourpassage. My grandfather came to see me when I was at school, and gaveme a lot to persuade me to stay. He was taking his money to theAuckland bank, for fear another tana should come. Then we can go andlive among the pakehas."

  "But where shall we go?" asked Edwin, struck with the ability with whichWhero had laid his plan, and the ease with which he was carrying it out."I only wish I could have spoken to Dunter or Mr. Hirpington before wecame away; for what will they think of me?"

  "Think!" repeated Whero; "let them think. Could I betray my father tothem? Our hearts are true to each other. We have given love for love.Would they believe it? No. Would they have let you come away with me,Nga-Hepe's son? No. One word, my brother, and you would have beenlost. A steamer will take us to school. They told me at Tauranga therewas a school in every great town on the island, so it does not matterwhere it lands us; the farther off the better."

  Marileha was watching for them on the bank. Whero waved his arms insignal of success, and shot swiftly past in the cold gray light of thecoming day.

  The eastern sky was streaked with red when the first farm-house wassighted. Should they stop and beg for bread? Whero was growingexhausted with continued exertion. He lifted his paddle from the water,and Edwin sat upright; then caution whispered to them both, "Not yet!wait a little longer." So they glided on beneath the very window of theroom where Mrs. Hirpington was sleeping. One half-hour later she mighthave seen them pass.

  The ever-broadening river was rolling now between long wooded banks.Enormous willows dipped their weeping boughs into the stream, and abridge became visible in the distance as the morning sun shone out. Thewhite walls of many a settler's home glistened through the light gauzyhaze which hung above the frosted ground. Whero's aching arms hadscarcely another lift left in them, when they perceived a littleriver-steamer with its line of coal-barges in tow.

  Should they hail it and ask to be taken on board? No; it was going thewrong way. But Edwin ventured, now that the hills were growing shadowyin the dim distance, to sit upright and take his turn with the paddle,whilst Whero rested.

  How many miles had they come? how many farther had they yet to go?

  They watched the settlements on either side of the river with hungryeyes, until they found themselves near a range of farm-buildings whichlooked as if they might belong to some well-to-do colonist, and were ineasy hail of the river-bank. They ran the canoe aground, and walked upto the house to beg for the bread so freely given to all comers throughthe length and breadth of New Zealand.

  Invigorated by the hearty meal willingly bestowed upon a Maori boy onhis way to school, they returned to the canoe; but the effort to reachthe coast was beyond their utmost endeavour. Edwin felt they were nowout of the reach of all pursuit, and might safely go ashore and rest,for Whero was ready to fall asleep in the canoe.

  They were looking about for a landing-place, when, to his utteramazement, Edwin heard Cuthbert shouting to him from the deck of one ofthe little steamers plying up and down the river.

  "By all that is marvellous," exclaimed Edwin, "if that isn't my oldCuth!"

  He turned to his companion, too far under the influence of the dustmanto quite understand what was taking place around him.

  Cuthbert's shout of "Stop, Edwin, stop!" was repeated by a deep, manlyvoice. The motion of the steamer ceased. Edwin brought the canoealongside.

  "Where are you bound for?" asked his old acquaintance the captain of thecoaster.

  "Come on board," shouted Cuthbert.

  The captain repeated his inquiry.

  Whero opened his sleepy eyes, and answered, "Christchurch."

  "I am a Christchurch boy," cried another voice from the deck of thesteamer. "But the Christchurch schools are all closed for the winterholidays."

  There were hurried questions exchanged between the brothers after fatherand Effie. But the answers were interrupted by the appearance of Mr.Bowen.

  "Pay your rower," he shouted to Edwin, "and join our party. I am takingyour little brother and sister home, for I am going to the hills to makeinquiries into the state of distress."

  Before Edwin could reply, Whero, with a look at the old identity as ifhe defied the whole world to interfere with him, was whispering toEdwin,--

  "These men are fooling us. They will not take us to Christchurch. Theyare going the wrong way."

  Edwin was as much alarmed as Whero at the thought of going back; but heknew Mr. Bowen had no authority to detain him against his will.

  "Our errand admits of no delay," he answered, as he resigned the paddleto Whero.

  The canoe shot forward.

  "Good-bye! good-bye!" cried Edwin.

  Sailors and passengers were exclaiming at their reckless speed, forWhero was rowing with all his might. The number of the boats and bargesincreased as they drew nearer the coast.

  "Lie down again amongst the rushes," entreated Whero, "or we may meetsome other pakeha who will know your English face."

  Their voyage was almost at its end. They were in sight of the goal.

  Black, trailing lines of smoke, from the coasting-steamers at the mouthof the river, flecked the clear brilliancy of the azure sky.

  Edwin was as much afraid as Whero of another chance encounter. Audreymight turn up to stop him. Some one might be sending her home by water,who could say? Another of the shipwrecked sailors might be watching fora coaster to take him on board. So he lay down in the bottom of thecanoe as if he were asleep, and Whero pulled the rushes over him.